Outbreak
by Noir1
Summary: In a bustling metropolis, a sabotage mission has gone awry... Survival is now just a prayer of the dying.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is copyrighted to Capcom, inc., and I assert no ownership of it. If, by their request, or at the behest of a certified representative, I shall immediately remove this work from Fanfiction.net.  
  
Author's Preface: This is bound to be quite a long work, perhaps a full- length novel. Then again, my previous pieces, Lonely Lover's Lament and Return of Anguish were also supposed to be full-length. Fortunately, this is not in first-person, nor does it have a pervasive, saccharine romance element. That's just not my forte.  
  
Outbreak:  
Prologue  
  
The sky was dark, the ominously looming thunderheads assuring the residents of the bustling metropolis that a storm was inevitable. Periodic cracks of thunder sounded off in the distance, warning all those around of the natural calamity that would soon befall them. The swiftly descending sun of dusk was still a prominent, rusty orb above the city's skyline, even though most of its denizens were too occupied with swearing at their particular rush-hour predicament to bother looking. Smog clashed with humid air in their respective efforts to hinder the vision of the drivers, pedestrians, and the few leisurely souls that could afford to stake out a good seat for the coming cataclysm.  
  
A buzzing radio in the gothic, opulently-decorated Neilson City Central Planning Commission warned the few remaining office drones that the coming storm would be one of the most spectacular in the history of their relatively young center of financial power.  
  
"Christ, Henry, don't you think you'd better get home? This thing doesn't look like it's gonna get any prettier, 'cording to what the weather radio is promising." The gruff, tobacco-hardened voice belied the genuine intellect of the speaker; his less-than-stellar record for adherence to societal conventions made his lack of annunciation also less than a surprise. The speaker was the chief engineer for the Central Planning Commission, Paul Riley.  
  
"Nah, why bother, Paul? I'm just going to be chewed out by Janet for forgetting something. 'Cause I always forget something, according to her." Henry Jenkins, haggard and disaffected as always, just went back to the paperwork that he'd been poring over for hours.  
  
"That's just why, ya moron!" Paul snickered, glancing at the suspended LED clock in the corner. "Damn, seven-twenty-three," he recited the numbers displayed on the buzzing, flickering digital readout.  
  
"What about the time? You know I've got to finish this bureaucratic nonsense before I can have any peace in my life. Jenkins'll hound me to the ends of the earth if I don't submit this report by closing time." He released an indignant sigh, pondering just why their inept supervisor, Jenkins, despite his assertions as to the merits of hard work, deigned to join them on such a lovely night at the office.  
  
"He's an Umbrella suit, that's why, Henry. He has the influence of our local mega-conglomerate at his disposal, and he's always capitalized on it." Paul slouched back in the uncomfortable chair in the manner that would always manage to rile their boss. "D'ya think this looks as unprofessional as that straight-laced sycophant claims?" Paul mused more to himself, despite the pointed question to Henry.  
  
"Yeah, maybe. Who cares?" Henry didn't even bother to look up at Paul's antics, having heard the same semi-rhetorical question hundreds of times. Their contempt for their boss was no secret, even to the notoriously dense man in question.  
  
"If you put down that stupid pencil and realized that you could just submit half-finished reports like the rest of us, Henry, you'd be quite a bit happier." Paul chuckled, awaiting the inevitable tirade from his over- stressed best friend.  
  
"I know it's futile, goddamn it!" Henry snapped, surging upwards in his seat and smacking his fists against the table. Scattered packets of pens and paper were sent flying at the unusually furious outburst, causing even his best friend to recoil in surprise. Not noticing, he continued to growl, "I know that Jenkins doesn't even read our reports before he returns them for 'improvement.' I know damn well that the idiot probably couldn't find his Mercedes if it weren't for those day-glow arrows. I know that the dickhead probably couldn't survive if it weren't for our slaving, and I know that Umbrella doesn't give a damn about the citizens of this town! But, you know what, Paul? I do! I have to finish this stupid report so that I can have it rejected for the sake of the people in this anarchic, sprawling chemical factory!" Their term for the turn their beloved city had taken wasn't being used in its normal, joking context. "I just gotta get this done so that I can at least muster some good reply to Janet when she bitches at me!" He sat back down, nearly panting from the exertion of his emotional explosion.  
  
"Sorry, Henry. I know, I know; I'm just sick of waiting in this hellhole so that our employers can keep their undeserved jobs." Paul stroked a gnarled hand through his thinning, grayed hair, sighing to himself.  
  
Abruptly, a roaring, clamorous clap of thunder shattered the uncomfortable silence inside the virtually deserted office complex. An azure streak of crackling electricity seethed down the lightning rod mounted atop the towering skyscraper, sending a perceptible vibration through every room. Henry and Paul, being the only two remaining, sans some janitorial staff, jolted at the sudden interruption; despite the surprise, the breaking of the awkward peace was a relief for both of them.  
  
"Hey, Henry," Paul began, his voice apologetic, "I do understand why you're doing this. I do it, too, even though I usually just seem irresponsible. You know that I wouldn't keep this menial job if I didn't care about it." He laced his hands behind his head, turning his ruddy face toward the whitewashed, featureless ceiling.  
  
"No, Paul, I honestly don't think that you do understand why I'm doing it." This prompted a surprise groan from his friend, but he continued. "I'm sorry about this, old friend." Reaching within the abyss of his seemingly bottomless filing cabinet, he withdrew a solid, matte- black shape; it glittered ever-so-slightly beneath the dull fluorescent lights. Squeezing the trigger on the suppressed pistol, he closed his eyes, only envisioning the atrocious sight of his best friend toppled over in his chair, slowly being engulfed by a pool of blood forming from the gaping wound in his skull. Wheeling around to his computer, he tapped in a sequence of rapid commands, before the entire office was hurled into darkness.  
  
"This is Eagle Four," he whispered solemnly into a handheld radio that he'd just withdrawn from his desk drawer. "The Umbrella Nest is open. Osprey is welcome. I repeat, Umbrella Labs are open to Osprey." He didn't even wait for the response before he turned the menacing opening of the barrel toward his own face; he just hoped that his selfless dedication to the city that he'd helped build was worth it. A single tear leaking out of his clenched eyes, his hands quivering, he squeezed the trigger a second time; a soft puff, the clank of the spent casing, and the clamor of the falling handgun were the only sounds heard afterwards. 


	2. Chapter One

Author's Notes: Alas, I couldn't stave off my muse for long enough to create some genuine suspense before my second chapter. This probably won't please many people, unless, by some miracle, Outbreak's prologue was well- received. In any case, enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I assert no  
ownership of it. If by their request, or the request of an authorized representative, I shall immediately remove this work from fanfiction.net.  
  
Outbreak: Chapter One  
  
Harmon Commercial Pharmaceutical Firm (HCF) Internal Security Division HQ  
  
Two Hours Earlier  
  
The slate-gray storm clouds hovering over the expansive complex were a steel harbinger of the catastrophe to come. Rushing from building to building, her black, gouged boots kicking bits of sand and gravel upwards from the crudely-leveled ground, Lieutenant Appolonia Clemenza furiously tried to balance her sprint to the command center with her effort to avoid the rain slamming brutally against the terrain around her. Her flowing mane of jet-black hair was already damp and matted to her back, adding to the already extreme discomfort of having the sopping-wet combat fatigues clinging to her body.  
  
"Damn it. Can't be late again for the briefing, especially now." She grumbled to herself between harsh pants, scanning the courtyard for any fellow souls who may have also lost track of time. She knew just what her commander would have to say to her when she finally did arrive, and it wasn't exactly a pleasant prospect.  
  
"Attention all personnel," an unfamiliar voice roared over the various loudspeakers dotting the thick metal and concrete buildings surrounding her. "Combat Unit Alpha is ordered to divert to assembly area Bravo. Prepare for type BLACK," she sensed the trepidation in his voice as he spoke the word, even with the distortion of the crackling speakers, "briefing. Repeat, all Alpha Personnel are to report to assembly area Bravo. That is all."  
  
With a sigh, she stopped in her tracks, kicking up a virtual storm of sand beneath the eve under which she decided to rest; she was at, oddly enough, assembly area Bravo. Rolling her eyes, she just slouched against the cool metal of the modular structure, pleased to finally have an escape from the torrential downpour. But something was peculiar about the virtual silence, despite the persistent clatter of the rain against the wet sand and buildings.  
  
"Hey, Appolonia!" A familiar voice snapped her out of her paranoid reverie. "How did you get here so soon?" The youthful outburst made her smile despite the discomfort of her damp clothing.  
  
"Just a coincidence, Mikhail." She turned slowly, raising her head to make eye-contact with the jovial giant before her. He was Mikhail Svetskaya, a Russian immigrant that, much like her, had a sinister depth of character that was rarely apparent.  
  
"Da, and I I'm going to trade clothes with you for the next mission. Late again, huh, comrade?" He grinned down at her, quirking an eyebrow up at the Soviet formality that he couldn't seem to discard.  
  
"Yeah, comrade Bear," she sighed, feeling somewhat intimidated by the great man's size, despite his generally kind demeanor. "I know, I know. I'm the unit's Vice XO, and I should learn to act responsibly." She shuffled awkwardly in place, wondering just how someone so much younger than she could lecture her on matters of maturity. Trying to change the subject, she nodded toward the building behind her. "Why're we being deployed on a BLACK-level operation, anyway? It's not as though any other operations wouldn't be called 'black' by the military."  
  
"I think it has something to do with that new officer. Creepy guy; he seems so much more powerful than he looks. You've seen him, right? Blonde, always wears those ridiculous sunglasses?"  
  
"I may have met him once or twice. Major Albert, or something. I've never seen him smile, and he's always so aloof." She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. The driving rain had begun to cool the formerly sweltering summer air, and the fact that she was absolutely drenched wasn't helping matters.  
  
"Attention, Children!" A booming, cold voice cut through the air like a frigid gunshot. "Appolonia, you were supposed to have been at Zone Charlie earlier. Where the hell were you, Lieutenant?" The voice of their Commander, Erwin Mueller, was harsh and demeaning, and she turned her head, coming face-to-face with his humorless visage.  
  
"Sorry, sir!" She snapped, raising a hand to her forehead in a crisp salute. "My alarm clock is broken again." She groaned internally at the pathetic excuse.  
  
"That's no reason for you to be late, Lieutenant! Maybe the Army wasn't so tough on you, but we're not the Army! You're on a salary now, and we can dump you as easily as we hired you. Get inside!" He waved demandingly toward the entrance to the assembly area; the interior of the dingy room was completely dark, no features discernable from the outside. Not waiting for her, Mueller entered.  
  
"Sieg Heil!" She hissed, raising her hand up in a mock 'Heil Hitler' salute behind his back. This earned a chuckle from Mikhail, and she turned to find him mimicking her.  
  
"When in Berlin." He trailed off, smirking at his own little joke. "Don't let Adolf get to you, Appolonia. The man's always had a titanium bar right up his rectum."  
  
A small smile forming over her dark features, Appolonia murmured, "after you, Comrade."  
  
"Sure. Is your arthritis acting up, mom?" Mikhail strode into the now-lit room with a chuckle, his infinite reserves of boisterous confidence not failing him.  
  
"God, I hate my job." She grimaced, the barb about her age not putting her in the best of moods. It wasn't just that she was seven years the senior of the massive man, but that he was right; she had been feeling the effects of age, no matter how slight. At thirty-five, she was one of the oldest among the elite commando squad, and her fellow soldiers never passed up any opportunity to make a jab about it. Gathering up her characteristic obstreperous energy, she brushed a few wisps of damp hair out of her eyes and entered the dank staging room.  
  
She was met with the expected sight of Mueller pacing back and forth, annoyed as usual at the tardiness of the team, and Mikhail lounging languidly back in a chair that was far to small for his massive stature. Sinking into a seat next to Mikhail, she just mumbled wryly, "if I didn't know better, I'd think I wasn't the only one sleeping late today." She glanced down at her watch, amused at how odd their schedules had become; it was six-fifteen in the afternoon, but the entire team had just returned from a job in France nine hours earlier.  
  
"Is Adolf one of those Nazi supermen that can survive without sleep?" Mikhail whispered, his contempt for the German man, and the German society altogether, not lost on her. His grandparents had been massacred in the Great Patriotic War, his parents barely managing to escape the clutches of Hitler's death squads.  
  
"Hey, not all Germans are that bad. Adolf is just one of those holdovers from the time when they thought they were the 'master race.'" She sighed, praying that he wouldn't launch off on a tirade about how much his people suffered.  
  
"From a member of the Axis." He chuckled, his barb about her nationality earning a glare.  
  
"That was long before my time, Stalin." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I wasn't even born in Italy, anyway."  
  
"Bad joke, I know." He patted her shoulders as gently as he could, still almost managing to dislodge her from the creaking metal chair. He stood a full two feet taller than Appolonia, his hulking form enough to intimidate any opponent, no matter how confident. He truly exemplified the Russian 'bear,' inordinately muscled and with a ferocity in battle only matched by his compassion toward his relatives, friends, and his great love, Mother Russia.  
  
"Gah, you could try to be a bit gentler." Appolonia squawked, regaining her balance after Mikhail's jarring 'pat.' She stood at a meager five feet and seven inches, relatively diminutive, especially by the standards of the army, but her expertise in battle had earned her a reputation as an absolutely lethal combatant. Born in a low-income Chicago district, it was no surprise.  
  
Their debate about the nature of their commandant's people was cut short by the slow shuffling of combat boots into the cramped room, a diverse assortment of men and women in gray fatigues groaning as they walked the squat building. The pervasive stench of pungent air was indicative of that the building was ill-used, traces of dust settling on the inactive air-conditioner; the fresh air filtering in through the widely- opened windows and the doorway was a resplendent reprieve from the pervasive odor.  
  
"Finally, ladies and gentlemen." The commander's voice was more icy and objective than usual, making even Mikhail stare straight ahead with rapt attention. "I'm sure that you've heard the rumors about our new officer. That he's a former Umbrella employee. Well, you're right. He's got an amazing assortment of knowledge about our rival corporation's various facilities, and a myriad of contacts. Well, we've just had an astounding break. You've undoubtedly heard of Neilson City, that new Umbrella-financed industrial town that popped up out of nowhere in the Midwest. Well, it seems that it's been doing more than manufacturing their wonderful pharmaceuticals. Our new officer, Major Albert, just made contact with an employee at the Neilson City Planning Commission, which is really just a façade for a large subterranean lab compound." Mueller turned around abruptly, and entered a series of commands into the computer behind him; a large screen descended in response, an electronic diagram of an opulent building displayed on it. "Well, we've had our lucky break. He's scheduled to shut down the power to the building and provide us with a route into the laboratories in two hours. This gives us an hour to prepare before we have to be in the air. Get ready, people! This is strictly a covert snatch-and-grab. Suppressed weapons, and no explosives, other than the demo team's thermite bombs. Once we've procured the target materials, we'll blow the labs, and be out of the city limits by the time anyone knows what's happened. You'll get your full briefing once we're airborne! Move, move, move!" Mueller emphatically exclaimed, waving his arms dramatically.  
  
"Well," Appolonia began with a groan as she hoisted herself off the chair, "it's times like these that I don't regret joining this division." She slipped through the spaces between the other troops as they shuffled off, leaving Mikhail behind to wait for a clearing suitable for his body.  
  
Firmly outside in the clean, rain-washed air, Appolonia stretched her lean, lithe body, delighting in the assortment of cracks and pops that resonated around the canyons between the tightly-packed buildings. She was off to her own personal apartment in the housing area of the ad hoc base constructed from an old airport, quite possibly the only aspect of the barren parcel of desert that appealed to her. She's always enjoyed flying, and the refurbished tower looming over the darkened horizon reminder her of the many times that she'd sat for hours in the fields outside of O'Hare, gazing longingly at the jets.  
  
Shaking her head, she resumed her deliberate stride toward the housing block near the control tower, the glimmer off of her particular window somehow calling to her. The modern apartment block was a bit of an anomaly to all those housed at the facility, especially how it absolutely contrasted the grim, sterile rows upon rows of modular command buildings, and the various armories.  
  
"Can't complain, though. This apartment here is better than the one I had in Chicago, and this one's free of charge." She mused to herself, glancing back to see the various other commandos sluggishly walking in the same direction. After hours of sleep-deprivation, even the most skilled men and women were bound to become lethargic.  
  
"Hey, Appolonia!" Mikhail's deep, yet somehow very youthful and almost childish, voice roared over even the many claps of thunder. "Mind if I come up with you?" His comprehension of American customs a bit lacking, he always found himself in some type of embarrassing predicament; this was no exception.  
  
Feeling mischievous, she shot back to him, "yeah, but I'm sure you'll only need to stay for five minutes or so."  
  
"Huh? Why so short, Appolonia?" Mikhail grimaced as he caught on. "That's not funny! I just wanted to talk!" He rushed up to her, easily reaching her with his far longer limbs.  
  
"Sorry about that, Mikhail; just couldn't resist it." She was less than apologetic. "Anyway, we have to prepare for this mission. Can't it wait?" She glanced at her watch. "We only have forty-five minutes left before we deploy."  
  
"No, I don't think so..." He looked genuinely concerned, and grasped her arm lightly.  
  
"What's the problem, Mikhail?" She turned back to him, shivering at the persistent chill of the sheets of water raining down on them.  
  
"It's about this mission. I don't like it. Why is this new guy suddenly calling all of our missions? He strikes me as inhuman. More like a machine than a man."  
  
"That's it? Granted, he's creepy, but so is most of the command staff." Appolonia quirked an eyebrow at her friend's uncharacteristic fear.  
  
"Nyet. Not just that. When I was in town a few days ago, this strange man stopped me. He knew my name, even though I'd never met him; he told me that this mission wouldn't be what we thought it was." Mikhail rattled off, his bushy brows furrowed. "He never told me his name. Some man in a trench coat; he said he knew about Umbrella."  
  
"That's weird, Mikhail, I'll admit that. Even so," she was still mulling over just what Mikhail had said, "I wouldn't trust some man in a trench coat just because he knows your name. It's not as though you're completely unknown. KGB records aren't that hard to acquire."  
  
"This man was an American, and what about his knowing about this mission?" Mikhail was determined to press the issue, but he was only met with a pensive stare.  
  
"Listen, Mikhail, it is weird. But I don't think you should tell anyone else about this. We can talk about this when we return from the mission; we need to prepare." Looking around, she saw that everyone else had entered the housing facility, and they were utterly alone, save for the spattering of rain and the staccato cracks of thunder.  
  
"Da, I suppose we have no other option. But I still want to explore this afterward." Mikhail sighed, obviously not satisfied, but strode off toward the building.  
  
"Sorry, Mikhail." Appolonia mumbled, and started off after him, feeling an intense apprehension flowing through her brain; she shared Mikhail's doubt about the nature of their operation.  
  
The door having already shut behind her friend, Appolonia fished her ID card out of her pocket, inspecting it absently. She ran her fingers over the details, the letters 'HCF' prominently embroidered on the card, and her entire life being compressed into a series of numbers and letters; her name, her date of birth, her height, weight, and her serial number. It was dehumanizing, and she absolutely hated it; she had lived most of her life as an anonymous warrior, though, and she managed to control the irritation. Blinking, she slid the green-hued card through the reader, and entered at the high-pitched beep.  
  
With a quick glance at the luminous numbers on her watch, she began to sprint intently toward her room on the first floor, but something was wrong. The door was ajar, and a dim light was emanating from within. Cautiously, she drew the weighty mass of the pistol that she always wore on her belt, and kicked the thick steel barrier open with a rough clang. Nothing was within, save for a small envelope with the word, 'listen.'  
  
She walked cautiously toward the thin paper envelope, and held it up against the desk lamp that had been left on by whoever had intruded into her room. The only apparent contents a small digital tape, she sliced it open from the bottom with her letter opener, and let the small rectangle clatter unceremoniously onto the table. Agitated, she picked up the DAT, and slid it into the player that she kept near the small computer terminal.  
  
Initially, there was nothing but static on the grainy, distorted recording, so she believed that it may have just been some sinister prank conducted by some of the more immature members of the unit, but then something truly horrific began to emerge from the garbled ambience. "Help me, please. Don't let it come any closer. Don't. No! No!" Suddenly, the petrified human voice, what sounded to be a man, descended into terrified shrieking; shouts of agony and then what sounded like shredding flesh followed. Then, silence reigned, the tape seeming to have become exhausted.  
  
As she prepared to remove the recording, however, a crisp, clear voice rang through the room; it startled her, and she jolted, almost throwing the player from the desk. "Ms. Clemenza, I'm sure that you don't know me, but I certainly know you." It was a somber, low baritone, completely self-assured, yet somehow lacking any semblance of humanity. "I'm sure that, by this time, you're ready to leave on your mission to Neilson City. Just be wary of what you might find. Remember what you've heard." With that, the tape abruptly stopped with a low click.  
  
Tentatively, she removed the short recording from the player, and slid it into the now-dried fatigues that hung comfortably from her body. She wondered just why anyone would conceivably go to such elaborate means to give such a small bit of information, and it was disheartening; could Neilson City possibly hold what the tape had documented? The tape further compounded the worries that had begun with Mikhail's cryptic statements about the mysterious man, and she mentally shrugged, making a determined effort to forget what had happened and concentrate on her mission. She would play the tape for Mikhail later, but, after taking a gander at the glimmering digits on her alarm clock, she decided that she'd need to prepare.  
  
Tying her hair back into a taut, almost rigid ponytail, she slid on the various bits of combat paraphernalia that she would need before she could visit the armory and obtain her weapons. Her flak jacket and load bearing vests were first to be worn, followed by a flawless, polished pair of combat boots, and the tactical radio set that she crafted herself; she established a new standard of communications gear for the team, and she was given the first prototype. Every time she glimpsed the rugged, pockmarked frame of the equipment, she would swell with pride; but the dread that so pervaded her mind even overcame the usual glee of being able to use it.  
  
With a sigh, she slid on the gloves and grasped the midnight black balaclava, readying herself for any contingency. Slowly extracting herself from the now-dark apartment room, she just left the door open, deciding that anyone that would want to enter would find some means of doing it, anyway. Determined to find Mikhail, she sprinted anxiously across the grounds to the armory; the massive, steel structure towered over most of the other structures, a quartet of massive ventilation fans producing a whirring that overpowered even the roaring downpour of the rain and the tenacious rumble of thunder in the distance.  
  
Finding her way into the rows upon rows of various, ultra-advanced weapons, and joining the cadre of other soldiers perusing what was available to them, she selected her favored arms. She withdrew the comfortable, familiar frame of an MP5-SD6, the giant tubular suppressor surrounding the barrel conveying an even greater sense of menace than its smaller, louder cousin; a newly-sharpened combat knife and a compact, reliable SIG P229 followed. Outfitting herself with a variety of concussive grenades and enough ammunition to support a small squad, she made her final selection, hoping that she wouldn't regret the extra weight: her coveted pair of night vision goggles. The large, cumbersome visual instruments were her personal favorite, and, she decided, an imperative for such a dark, impenetrable night.  
  
Leaving the armory, she waited at the exit for the remainder of her squad, having said very little to anyone before then. She was glad for the frigid deluge of water falling from the sky, every droplet seeming to soothe away a bit of her fear and anxiety. Finally managing to calm her frazzled nerves, she was yet again put on edge when the humongous hand of Mikhail clamped around her shoulder.  
  
"Goddamn it, Mikhail! Don't do that!" She yelped, grasping his wrist in a death-grip. "I'm on edge enough as it is. You didn't need to do that."  
  
"Sorry, Appolonia." His voice was utterly bewildered, wondering just what he had done to earn her ire. Drawing his hand from her shoulder, he looked directly into her narrowed brown eyes; he could barely discern a slight quiver in the liquid pools in the dark.  
  
"It's fine, Mikhail. Sorry about that. I've just been ridiculously anxious since you told me about that man that spoke you in town." She moved closer to him, whispering, "I think that I might've gotten a tape by the same person. Some man screaming before he was torn to shreds. He told me to be wary of 'it' when we arrive for the operation." She drew back, slipping the DAT from the small pouch in her fatigues.  
  
"Weird, very weird." He took the proffered cassette, sliding it into the folds of his own uniform. "I'll listen to it as soon as possible. If it's the same man, I'll be very worried." With that said, he fell into line with her, waiting for the other troops to join them.  
  
"Ma'am," she turned to see one of the younger operatives behind her, adjusting the glimmering shell of his ballistic helmet. "We're ready."  
  
"Thank you, Sergeant Richardson." With those words, she began the rapid procession through the blinding rainstorm toward the airfield. A pair of giant, roaring helicopters sat, their rotors shaving cleanly through the downpour; the pilots sat intently within the illuminated cockpits, checking instruments and glancing anxiously at their Dopplar radar displays.  
  
Much to her surprise, Mueller emerged from the lead 'copter, fully equipped with a weapon slung over one arm. He shouted over the deafening drone of the blades, "Appolonia, I'll be leading this one directly! You're still vice-XO, so get your troops onboard! Prepare for the briefing!" With that, he hopped back into the cabin, motioning for the rest of the assembled soldiers.  
  
"You heard him, team!" Appolonia yelled, "Get onboard! We need to be airborne right now!" She clambered up into the cabin after Mueller, the massive form of Mikhail squeezing onboard after her. Mere moments later, with a series of abrupt, jarring thumps, the helicopters were rising, and soaring over the control tower. Their lights extinguished, they hurtled at surprising speeds toward the glowing gem of Neilson City.  
  
"Well, troops, this is it." Mueller's arctic voice was magnified by the speaker, allowing him to be heard clearly over the monotonous whump- whump-whump of the helicopter rotors. "When we arrive at the City Planning Commission, we'll hover until we hear from our contact from inside. After that, we land on the roof, deploy, and descend in the emergency elevators to the ground floor. After that, we penetrate the defenses in Utility Basement One, which you should have memorized on the map earlier, and then enter the main laboratory complex. When we've arrived, we terminate any and all personnel present, secure this," he withdrew a photograph of a small vial from his pocket, a sickly green-colored liquid contained within. "Finally, the demolition team plants their thermite plasma charges in their manufacturing and cultivation chambers, sets the timers for ten minutes, and we're extracted before anyone's the wiser. Any questions?"  
  
"Yeah, I've got a question." Mikhail raised his hand in a mocking gesture. "What's in the vial?"  
  
"You know that's classified, Sergeant-Major Svetskaya." Mueller snapped, stowing the photograph before resuming his diatribe. "Remember, this isn't a site-seeing mission. Don't look at anything you don't need to see, and don't touch what you don't need to touch. Get that vial in its secure canister, and get the hell out of the lab. Simple as that, children." He snarled, completely mirthless.  
  
Before anyone could gripe or comment further, one of the pilots called back into the cabin, "sir, we've got a message. I'm patching it through."  
  
"This is Eagle Four," the solemn whisper came across clearly. "The Umbrella Nest is open. Osprey is welcome. I repeat: the Umbrella Labs are open to Osprey."  
  
"That's it, gentlemen." Mueller smirked sardonically. "Time to go." 


	3. Chapter Two

Author's Notes: I suppose that this may soon become a precedent in this work.. The tendency to jump about like some type of spastic grasshopper from person to person, from place to place, and from time to time. This is definitely not chronological, which might lend itself to bewilderment later; just hope that I can keep my demented creativity in check.  
  
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I  
assert no ownership of it. If by their request, or the request of an  
authorized representative, I shall immediately remove this work from  
fanfiction.net.  
  
Outbreak: Chapter Two  
  
Washington, District of Columbia  
  
Two Days Prior  
  
Porcelain-white domes rose above the magnificent, well-developed hedgerows and greenery surrounding the seat of power of the United States Government. Even at such a late hour, a sliver of the burning orange ball of the sun was still precariously perched over the horizon, maintaining the oppressive heat that refused to relinquish its grasp over the denizens of the sprawling maze of buildings. Men and women darted back and forth on the neatly-paved streets, clad in business attire; young professionals and politicians, some idealists, some ready to sell their souls to their wealthy constituents. It didn't really matter to the man who sat high in his ivory tower above the world, staring down through his tinted windows into the souls of everyone.  
  
"So, Senator Furgeson, is there anything our fair company can do for you today?" The speaker's voice was a silky-smooth outburst, well- practiced, and managing to feign some sense of hospitality. His back was turned to the very intimidated congressman, his broad shoulders and neatly- cropped head of graying hair occupying most of the other man's sight. His black, expensive suit fit him as though he had been born with it, the cloth somehow integrated into his body. He didn't bother to turn, but had he given his guest the dignity of seeing his face, he would have only seen a mirthless smile beneath a pair of impenetrable sunglasses.  
  
"Y-yes, Mr. Harmon." The young, upstart senator Richard Furgeson stuttered, shifting awkwardly in his too-snug gray suit. "I've come to talk to you about your company's policies in Neilson City. As you know, some of our largest contributions have come from your rival, Umbrella." He flinched, somehow feeling the fury radiating from the towering man before him at the mention of his competitor.  
  
"What about Umbrella, Mr. Furgeson?" Harmon's voice was now colder than the depths of winter.  
  
"Well, this poses quite a dilemma for us. You were our largest campaign contributor, but Umbrella has built Neilson; their factories all over our state provide huge income to us." Furgeson was almost quivering, looking like a spooked animal, ready to flee at the slightest provocation.  
  
"I can assure you, Mr. Furgeson, that there will be no conflict of interest in these matters. I'm inclined to believe that Umbrella won't be a problem for us, nor for you; their credibility is already in a...." He paused dramatically, a sinister, smug smile creeping into his face. "Precarious standing after Raccoon City. I hear that the families of the victims of that 'terrible accident' couldn't even identify them through dental records after the nuclear blast. So tragic, Mr. Furgeson, isn't it?" His dark chuckle juxtaposed the seriousness of his words; the cruel humor made Furgeson's skin crawl.  
  
"Yes, it was a terrible accident, but Umbrella claims no responsibility in that outbreak. They're just a pharmaceuticals company; the CBDC reported that it was an infestation caused by a new plague strain carried by sewer rats." Furgeson stammered, having some notion of what his greatest benefactor was implying.  
  
"Ah, yes, of course. And I'm sure their generous donation to the victims' fund and their very kind offer to compensate the government for its expenses helped a lot in that finding. Mr. Furgeson, I know that you're not a stupid man, but you should realize when times are changing. Umbrella is no longer the company that it used to be. Harmon Commercial Pharmaceuticals Firm, my company, is the future of the biotech industry. We financed your campaign, and we can take away your power. Make sure that we are duly compensated, or you may find yourself less than useful." Harmon carefully weighed his words, being quite adept in threatening politicians through subtle implications.  
  
"Yes, I do understand that, Mr. Harmon. I can assure you that your company will have no problems getting that land grant for your new research complex." He was desperate to please his newest 'partner' in the mad-grab for power in the political arena, but still hesitant to turn his back on the company that built the new capital of his state. "The senate is already very interested in providing HCF with its newest federal research grant, after your successful stem-cell cloning experiments."  
  
"Yes, we're very proud of that, Mr. Furgeson." Harmon's voice returned to its former state of pseudo-warmth. "But remember. HCF is the future. Do not disappoint us." With that, he motioned distractedly for the frightened young politician to leave his opulently-decorated office, returning his attention to the bustling city before him. The sun had set, but the curtain was just rising on his bid for control in this center of power.  
  
"So easy." Harmon pondered aloud, "so very easy to take the reigns of these people. All they want is power, and the appearance of power is far more appealing than the genuine control provided by a lifetime of hard work and commitment." He mused, resting his hands on the darkened glass pane. "This is all a game of chess, but the king is always in check. The Queen is ready to stab him in the back at any time, and all members of his camp are ready to change sides and side with the enemy. So many straddle the fence, waiting for a chance to take some paltry amount of control for themselves. They're all pawns, all ready to be soldiers in my dominion. It will be so simple to finally topple the king, to claim his realm. All it will take is one decisive blow."  
  
Turning, he tapped the intercom switch, prompting an immediate reply from his receptionist. "Yes, Mr. Harmon?" Her voice trembled almost imperceptibly, her employer's reputation not at all lost on her.  
  
"Janine, patch me through to the Neilson Regional Defense Headquarters." An insidious smile cracked the grizzled visage of his usually emotionless face, rows of shark-like, ivory teeth pronouncing themselves in the darkened room.  
  
"Yes, sir." A series of clicks and static-filled pulses resonated through his office before all was peaceful; a single, deep voice greeted him seconds later.  
  
"This is DeSalvo, Mr. Harmon. May I help you?" DeSalvo's voice revealed no emotion.  
  
"Yes, I would like to speak with a Major Albert Wesker." Harmon's inflection was that of unadulterated glee, Wesker's betrayal of his former employer one of his greatest achievements.  
  
"Understood, sir. I'll have Wesker on in a few seconds." A small thud indicated that DeSalvo had set down the telephone, a series of footsteps and the creaking of a door clearly audible on the line.  
  
As he waited for Wesker, Harmon pondered the wisdom of his plan to finally topple the behemoth that was his opponent. Umbrella seemed almost indefatigable, a goliath that presented the largest obstacle to his domination of the military, civilian, and government venues that he had sought since he was a young scientist.  
  
"This is Wesker," a cool, detached voice broke him from his reverie. "I've examined your plan for Neilson City. I must say that it's very audacious, Mr. Harmon."  
  
"Do you have any objections to this plan, Albert?" Harmon dared his subordinate to voice any opposition.  
  
"No, Mr. Harmon. This will make the nightmare of Raccoon look like a pleasant dream. I'll have my men deploy as soon as my contact is ready. Are we to release all of the specimens, as well?" Wesker's voice never wavered from its usual, aloof state; it didn't seem to bother him that he was sealing the death sentence of thousands.  
  
"Yes, make sure that everything enters circulation. Umbrella will soon realize the consequences of their intrusion into our market. Umbrella will no longer be an obstacle after this. Ready your contacts in the United States Army's Chemical-Biological Defense Command, too, Albert. CBDC must corroborate FEMA's declaration of the origin of the outbreak to be Umbrella's lab complex. I have FEMA's Director Wilson ready, but you must ensure that this isn't a second Raccoon. There will be no nuclear strike, no cleanup, until it's been firmly established that 'wholesome' Umbrella is the enemy." Harmon delivered the orders with unfaltering confidence, the only sentiment conveyed being smugness. He was absolutely confident in his plan, and he cared not about the costs of it.  
  
"Don't worry, sir. I can assure you that CBDC will not be a problem. CDC and the WHO will also provide similar assessments of the outbreak. Are you ready to become a monopoly?" Wesker chuckled humorlessly, and Harmon could imagine his now-yellow eyes glimmering behind his seemingly permanent sunglasses.  
  
"It will be a glorious day for the company, Major Wesker." Harmon's shark-like smile became a sneer at the military formality. "As Julius Caesar once said, 'veni, vidi, vici.' I trust that you will not betray me, however."  
  
"You can count on me, sir." Wesker's level voice was the last sound heard on the line before it clicked off; pure, blissful silence, interrupted only by Harmon's slow breathing, pervaded the abysmal depths of the office.  
  
"When he saw the breadth of his domain, he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer." Harmon whispered wistfully, slowly removing the mirrored sunglasses from his angular face. Setting them down on the polished oak desk, he turned his back to the brilliantly-lit expanse of the DC skyline, and fixed his eyes on a map that had arrived on his computer monitor. Its header held two words, 'Neilson City.' 


	4. Chapter Three

Author's Notes: My, what a prolific day. We finally return to the present in this demented universe that I've crafted, and you, the reader, will finally see just why this is entitled Outbreak.  
  
Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I assert no ownership of it. If by their request, or the request of an authorized representative, I shall immediately remove this work from fanfiction.net.  
  
Outbreak: Chapter Three  
  
Neilson City Central Planning Commission, Neilson City  
  
21:00- Now  
  
Crackling thunder contested with the roaring helicopter rotor blades for dominance of the hearing of the twelve commandos. A pair of dark, sinister shapes swiftly, almost heedlessly, plummeted to the wide, smooth rooftop of the Central Planning Commission; the thick, rounded wheels impacted the flat, gray concrete with a dull thump. Their blades still whirling in a spastic, stroboscopic pattern beneath the flickering azure light of the lighting above them, the twin helicopters discharged their lethal cargo.  
  
Dark, ominous forms slipped silently from within the bowels of the choppers, torrential hails of rain pounding relentlessly against their black uniforms. Their faces were entirely covered, red, flickering lights from the night vision goggles strapped to their heads giving them an unearthly, insidious appearance; they were deadly apparitions, ghosts of vengeance, ready to strike down all that saw them.  
  
Appolonia could feel her heart pulsating thunderously in her chest, the overwhelming excitement of a mission never having lessened despite her vast experience. She raised a single gloved hand, motioning for the eleven similar shapes flanking her slender form to spread out across the platform. Her own weapon readied, she stepped deliberately, inexorably toward the blinking green light of the emergency elevator atop the roof. The small, square-shaped edifice protruded jaggedly from the building like a concrete blister, the only other raised objects atop the massive, gothic structure several scattered ventilation fans and a small radio antenna.  
  
"Ma'am," the hushed voice of one of her subordinates crackled through her radio. "Area clear. Got that elevator running yet?"  
  
"Almost ready, Jacobson." She experimentally tapped several commands into the elevator controls, a smile growing over her obscured face as the elevator car hummed obediently skyward. "All units, gather at the elevator. We're ready, team."  
  
"Appolonia," Mueller's taciturn voice came to life over the communications channel. "I'll be assuming command of the unit." The form of her stoic commanding officer slowly approached, silhouetted like a demon from the depths of hell against the glittering city lights.  
  
"Understood, sir." She sighed, raising her head up toward the shower of tearing, crystalline water droplets cascading down onto her body. The thin, rubber insulation of the suit roared as a new mass of water spattered against it, the material glistening.  
  
The recessed doors of the elevator cracked apart with a metallic groan, the ill-used device creaking as the men and women of the squad piled inside; it was an uncomfortable, cramped conveyance, most likely not intended to carry twelve humans, each weighed down with a bevy of heavy gear. Dull, blued lights starkly contrasted the stunning cityscape visible from the rooftop, the subdued twinkle of the fluorescent lights creating a sense of foreboding; it was bereft of warmth, accentuating the chill of their wet uniforms.  
  
"Deactivate your radios to conserve power," Mueller barked, his harsh voice filling the small cubicle.  
  
After a short series of dull clicks, the subtle buzzing of the radios went completely silent, an ethereal, frigid quietness choking the musty atmosphere of the elevator car. Only a gentle, persistent hum could be heard between the slow, controlled breathing of the men inside the vessel as it made its controlled plummet to the ground floor. Finally, after what seemed to be hours of deafening, cruel silence, the elevator came to an abrupt halt; the sudden jerk made even the unflappable Mueller jolt, the anxious silence finally having come to an end.  
  
"Move it, people." Mueller whispered heatedly, motioning toward the now-revealed foyer of the expansive ground floor through the parted doors. "Two-by-two, sweep pattern. No one should be here, but we can't be too cautious."  
  
The cluster of shadows acquiescently scattered, forming two-body square boxes of rapidly-moving darkness; agile flesh and sinewy muscle beneath a shroud of impenetrable black made its unstoppable progression toward the inevitable goal. Only shallow breathing and the staccato, subdued tapping of boots on the marble floor were audible above the high- pitched whine of rows and rows of computer terminals that lined the polished walls of the hall. Deliberate, cautious movements brought the group to a single doorway, a pair of large, menacing three-headed gargoyles on both sides the guardians to the domain beyond; twin Cerberuses, anxious to take the lives of those that would disturb the Hades that lay behind them.  
  
"What's with the creepy gargoyles?" Mikhail's low bass echoed in the narrow corridor.  
  
"Those are the two access panels for the door. There should be card- readers or keypads somewhere inside of them." Appolonia whispered, making Mikhail's discreet question seem like an explosive shout in comparison.  
  
"Shut up, you two." Mueller chided, and motioned for one of the men toward the back to move forward. "Minaev, you crack the security codes on that door." He directed the agent who didn't carry a menacing weapon, but a compact computer; its screen glinted slightly under the small emergency lights dispersed around the hall.  
  
"Yes, sir." Minaev complied, connecting a pair of cables with the center 'mouths' of both gargoyle heads. The small device whirred as the man's fingers tapped the keys in rapid, seemingly random patterns; only seconds passed before the thick steel of the doorway receded into the wall, revealing a brilliantly-lit pathway into the inner sanctum of the building.  
  
"We made it." Appolonia declared, leading the advance through the entrance to the labs. "I'm surprised that no one ever realized that this was a doorway to Umbrella's labs." She mused aloud, earning a disgusted glare from her team leader.  
  
"Everyone, cut the chatter; we're not paid to wonder about how stupid these employees were. Reactivate your radios and begin the clearance of the lab." Mueller directed, snapping the now-inactive pair of night vision goggles up to his forehead. Radiant, brilliant light pervaded the sterile white corridors of the laboratory, making the implements wholly unnecessary.  
  
"Right. Mikhail, you should come with me. Everyone else, proceed to your designated areas. Clear this laboratory as quickly as possible, and return to the entrance. Everyone, move out!" Appolonia declared, charging off down the narrow corridor with the hulking form of Mikhail in pursuit. She could hear the rapid footfalls of her fellow team members thundering behind her, and she readied her weapon as she came to the first branch. Much to her surprise, the junction of paths contained nothing but a small touchpad computer screen, displaying a compact map of the facility.  
  
"I guess we didn't even need to memorize the map, eh, Appolonia?" Mikhail joked, turning in place to find the rest of the unit already moving toward their respective objectives.  
  
"Yeah." She distractedly agreed, studying the three-dimensional diagram of the labyrinthine, window mazes of tunnels and halls that composed Umbrella's lab complex. "We're moving to Laboratory A4, which is straight ahead." She pointed down the corridor that spanned several hundred meters, a glimmering metal door just barely discernable in the distance.  
  
The duo crept steadily closer to the door, their creaking footsteps and unsteady breathing the only noise in the eerie silence of the hall. Blackened windows stared blindly outwards at them; vacuous eyes that absorbed all but understood nothing. There was an absence of life, movement, and sound within the expansive passage, the slightest creak and groan of electricity arcing through the overhead lights enough to send a frigid lance of terror through their minds. This lonely, cold environment was foreign to them; the barren depths of the complex were like an unending nightmare, the pristine, sterile white walls that seemed to expand to oblivion taunting their slow progress.  
  
At long last, and with great relief, the mismatched black shapes of Mikhail and Appolonia arrived at the looming door with 'A4' emblazoned in a retina-searing red across its width.  
  
"Should we knock and see if anyone's home?" Mikhail finally spoke, breaking the agitating void of natural sound.  
  
"Let's just get this over with, Comrade." Appolonia offered with a weak chuckle, pushing the switch adjacent to the thick barrier.  
  
The entry smoothly shifted aside with a hydraulic hiss, revealing its contents. A veritable forest of glistening steel and glass lay within, the gurgling and gushing of fluids in and out of the canisters, tubes, and other vessels a striking contrast to the pervasive silence of the corridor behind them. Apprehensively entering, Appolonia was flabbergasted to see just what was within the manifold containers. Horrific, deformed creatures, suspended within strange, burbling liquids of various colors, breathed calmly; their open, dull eyes stared directly into hers, provoking an uncontrollable rise of terror inside of her body.  
  
She was transfixed by the rows upon rows of specimens, their scaly, amphibian forms resembling gargantuan, menacing frogs; their gaping maws periodically opened, exposing profusions of jagged, brutal teeth.  
  
"Mikhail, just what the hell are those things?" Appolonia motioned to the beasts bobbing within their watery prisons.  
  
"I don't know, Appolonia, but I don't like this. I think this strange man that contacted both of us was right- this definitely isn't what we had expected. This definitely isn't what was promised." Mikhail couldn't restrain his curiosity, cautiously inching toward one of the specimen tanks. His eyes raked across the dozens of abominations, and he sidled up to one of the large glass and steel tubes. Experimentally tapping at the thick glass, he leapt back as the monster jerked inside, gnashing its huge, powerful jaws.  
  
"Jesus, Mikhail, they're awake in there!" Appolonia exclaimed, waving emphatically at all of the beasts.  
  
"Hmm." The hulking Russian approached the tank again, assessing every feature of the now-placid creature. "This thing is called a 'Tracker,' according to this label. Looks like our good friend Umbrella might have been dabbling in a bit more than biotech research. These things are bio-weapons."  
  
"No surprise there, Mikhail. Let's just get whatever's in the vial and leave this hellhole." Appolonia stammered, the persistent, glassy stare of the manifold monsters starting to unnerve her.  
  
"Why? Aren't they cute, Appolonia? I want to take one as a pet." Mikhail taunted, tapping the glass again; the creature predictably tried to bite rapping digit again, but ended up grasping nothing but its own life- support juices.  
  
"Damn it, Mikhail, that's not funny. Help me search the lab." Appolonia growled, now feeling more irked than afraid.  
  
"Sorry, mom." The man teased, before pointing toward an immense, buzzing freezer near the rear of the room. "I'd bet that the tubes are in there." He offered with a shrug before returning his attention to the 'Tracker.'  
  
"Some help you are, Comrade," she grimaced. "You know, there is a family resemblance there; no wonder you two hit it off so well." She sneered, a snide smile cracking her still pallid features.  
  
"Da, I can see that. He has my handsome face, huh?" Mikhail imitated the monstrosity's snarling countenance, chuckling at the eye- rolling it prompted. "At least he's not as spooky anymore, no?" He shrugged, and went back to studying the bio-weapon; it seemed to have begun assessing him, as well, as its eyes followed Mikhail's every movement.  
  
Having given up on prodding her partner for help in scouring the giant refrigerator, Appolonia cracked it open, half-expecting another one of the creatures to pop out at her. Much to her relief, only a frigid shower of gaseous nitrogen cascaded out over her body, making her shiver. Within, a large series of the designated vials glittered chillily under the harsh gleam of the laboratory lighting.  
  
"Mikhail," she directed, "I've found our targets. Find several secure liquid nitrogen containers for these; they'll have to be stored at a low temperature."  
  
"Right, Appolonia. Hmm." He pondered, his dark, narrow eyes searching the lab for a suitable vessel for their cargo. He finally came upon a trio of steel cylinders grafted together, a warning prominently etched into them: 'DANGER: LOW TEMPERATURE LIQUID NITROGEN.' "Bingo," he muttered as he grasped the tarnished, slightly-dented canisters. Subserviently, he delivered the carrier to Appolonia, cracking the seal to ensure that they had been recently filled.  
  
Clouds of frigid gas spilled from them, prompting a smile from the pair. With a sigh of relief, Appolonia set the vials into the storage solution with a pair of thick, cumbersome rubber gloves, before sealing the lid tightly; a hissing suction was their indication that they'd been successful.  
  
"All's well that ends well, huh, Appolonia? That was too easy." Mikhail affirmed gleefully, glad to finally be free of the confines of the stifling lab. Just as they began to move toward the exit, however, a soft gurgling caught their attention. Looking back intently, Mikhail's eyes widened as the nutritive fluid in the tanks of specimens slowly drained away, and the creature began to stir in earnest, quickly starting to flail in its now-empty confines. The glass began to give way under the rapid beating of its sharp claws, and the pair sped from the lab, slamming the door tightly behind them.  
  
"What the hell did you do, Mikhail?! Did you touch anything?!" Appolonia all but yelled, panting feverishly.  
  
"Not a chance, Appolonia! There is no way I could have done that!" Mikhail exclaimed, gripping his rifle intently. A muted cracking, shattering, and groaning sound emanated from behind the solid metal door behind them; squeals and shrieks of the beasts within permeated the suddenly chilly atmosphere of the hall.  
  
"Then who or what released those goddamn things?! I didn't touch a thing, Mikhail, and if you didn't." She trailed off uncertainly, her brows furrowed intently.  
  
"In any case, let's get the hell out of here." Mikhail insisted, almost leaping into the air as a metallic, deafening screeching thundered around the corridor. Turning, the pair saw a series of metal tears forming in the heavy door, and they both took off in a desperate sprint toward the exit.  
  
It didn't take them long, the extensive stretches of hallways winding in and out of their vision, before they arrived at the first junction. The sight that greeted them was not pleasant. Mueller stood alone, his back turned to them, as he calmly reloaded his sub-machinegun. Sporadic wisps of acrid smoke still wafted from the barrel, but he paid it not mind; he chuckled lowly, before turning to the pair. Beneath his feet lay most of their team, twisted and wrenched at odd angles as though taken by surprise; it must have been a surprise to have their commander betray them. Their blood intermingled into a spreading, dark crimson pool, soaking into Mueller's now-tarnished boots. Flesh, bone, and tissue was spattered on the otherwise pristine, whitewashed walls; blood slowly, agonizingly slid downwards, joining what had already formed.  
  
"Mueller!" Appolonia shouted incredulously, barely comprehending the sight. "What the fuck happened here?!"  
  
"Oh, Ms. Clemenza, so nice of you to join us." Mueller turned swiftly, leveling his weapon at Appolonia and Mikhail. "As you can see, their services are no longer necessary. You two, however, have something that I need." He motioned to the case that Appolonia held under her arm.  
  
"Go to hell, you Nazi bastard!" She snarled furiously, holding the steel canister possessively.  
  
"Let's make a deal. You give me the case, and I let you go free. Otherwise, Appolonia, I'll just have to put you down right now." He condescendingly sneered, his finger twitching around the trigger.  
  
"What's gonna keep you from doing it afterwards, Adolf?" Mikhail released his rifle, letting it clatter to the ground; he secretly shifted his hands toward the combat knife that he wore on his back, hoping that Mueller would be too distracted to notice.  
  
"Professionalism?" Mueller snickered, motioning for Appolonia to give him the case.  
  
"Fine, we'll trust you." Out of the corner of her eye, Appolonia saw just what Mikhail had planned. She slowly lowered the small tank to the ground, and kicked it gently toward her seditious commanding officer.  
  
"Fool." Mueller scoffed, but was cut short as Mikhail's knife, a glistening shard of lethal titanium, bit into his arm. "Argh! Goddamn you, you son of a bitch!" He cried, lifting the case and sprinting furiously around the corner; he narrowly evaded the trio of bullets fired, the lethal masses of lead clattering against the wall in a rapid series of thumps.  
  
"Get that bastard." Mikhail lifted his rifle, preparing to charge after the bleeding man.  
  
Nodding in agreement, Appolonia started ahead, spotting the dark flash of her fleeing commander. Firing another several shots, she continued, with Mikhail in fervent pursuit, after the traitor; a growing series of blood spatters along the otherwise pure white floor indicated his direction, and she tracked the glistening pools of red like a hound. When she reached the exit, however, there was only an ominous quiet; the blood trail continued ahead, but she could no longer hear the wounded man's desperate footfalls.  
  
"Mikhail, come over here." She hissed intently, quietly motioning for the mammoth man to join her near the corner. She stared determinedly into the darkened opening, anxiously waiting for the nefarious clank of a grenade to signal their demise. After a rapt few moments of frightful quiet, however, she felt confident enough to move ahead. The blood trail kept moving, diminishing slowly in size, as it led up toward the elevator.  
  
"The bastard's going to reach those choppers unless we find a faster route." Mikhail angrily roared, his booming voice echoing through the corridors; the fading sound seemed to carry forever.  
  
"I think I know what to do, Mikhail." Appolonia grinned, reaching for her radio.  
  
"What are you going to do?" Mikhail prodded, completely perplexed.  
  
"Easy. We just tell the choppers not to expect any survivors." Appolonia keyed in several commands, eventually receiving the anxious reply of one of the pilots; the drone of the blades was apparent in the background.  
  
"What is it? It's almost time to get out of here!" The pilot crowed through the connection, his voice frantic. "The storm is worsening! We won't be able to take off in a few minutes!"  
  
"Just get out of here!" Appolonia shrieked, feigning anguish, which wasn't truly that far from her true feelings. "The entire team's dead, and we've set the demo charges! Please, just take off!"  
  
"R-roger, Lieutenant! Are you sure you can't get out of here? We can wait a few minutes." The young pilot's voice sounded positively horrified, and Appolonia inwardly congratulated herself at how convincing she obviously had been.  
  
"No time! Get out!" She screamed, before she cut the connection.  
  
"Let's hope we've stranded that asshole." Mikhail declared, starting off toward the emergency elevator.  
  
"I'm sure we have. It's not like we need to rush. Not now, anyway." They still darted off toward their destination, anxious to confront their treasonous superior.  
  
Her blood roaring in her ears, every beat of her heart seeming to be a drawn-out, thunderous clamor, Appolonia sprinted toward the promising goal of the emergency elevator. Survival no longer her paramount interest, she slammed her elbow furiously against the activation switch; her hoarse pants blended with Mikhail's as they rested momentarily, waiting for the monotonous whine of the elevator. It didn't come soon enough, in Appolonia's view, but the dented metal doors eventually cracked apart; the dingy box's walls were stained with a fine sheen of still-wet blood, meaning that Mueller couldn't be far off from them.  
  
Readying their weapons, they stood evenly spaced on either side of the cramped compartment, waiting to erupt from the now-ascending cube with a flurry of vengeful gunfire. Appolonia's fury mixed with the burgeoning adrenaline in her fuzzy mind, sending icy, ethereal cascades of raw power through her body; it was a bewildering sensation, as though she was drunk and completely indifferent to whatever might happen to her- just as long as she killed that bastard.  
  
Finally, after a surprisingly short ascent, a brief 'ding' announced that they'd reached the top. As the doors separated, they were immediately met with a torrent of frigid water, and a rapid series of crackling booms; the searing, azure bolts of lightning that followed indicated that they were thunder strikes, not gunfire.  
  
"Let's go." Appolonia stated calmly, her eyes shining with a malevolent fury behind the black balaclava that covered most of her face.  
  
When the two emerged, however, they found their commander kneeling on the edge of the rain-flooded rooftop, cradling his still-bleeding arm. He turned slowly, his uncovered face cold and streaming with cascades of water. He held the vials of the sickly-greenish substance in his hands, staring directly into her eyes.  
  
"Well, that was very clever, Appolonia. I'm not disappointed, but you've still failed. It's time for me to fulfill my mission, I suppose." Mueller turned, staring down at the dizzying sight of the ground thousands of feet beneath him. "At least I won't have to live through this nightmare, but I hope that you do. When this virus hits the ground, nothing will be left alive. This is Umbrella's newest creation. They call it 'Omega.'"  
  
With that, Mueller hurled himself in a fluid, abrupt motion over the edge, flinging the vials before him. Despite the deafening dyne of the worsening storm, Appolonia thought that she heard his heinous cackling resonating through the cavernous mazes of skyscrapers. 


	5. Chapter Four

Author's Notes: The terror begins, at long last. Umbrella's newest creation has been unleashed, with dire consequences for the denizens of Neilson.  
  
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I  
assert no ownership of it. If by their request, or the request of an  
authorized representative, I shall immediately remove this work from  
fanfiction.net.  
  
Outbreak: Chapter Four  
  
Neilson City  
  
Three Hours Later  
  
"Jesus Christ, Dick." A gruff, boisterous voice cut through the cacophony of the wailing police sirens, the pervasive, sporadic roar of thunder, and the driving spattering of rain. "Who in the hell is this guy? Some kind of suicidal SWAT member?" The speaker knelt beside the gruesomely mutilated form of the man that had once been Erwin Mueller. Blood still slowly oozed out of the shredded mass of bone and tissue that had once been his body, aided along in its slow trickle across the street by the torrential downpour; pinkish, burbling rivers cascaded away from his still figure. Jagged, porcelain bones protruded sickeningly from the midnight-black uniform, coated with ripped muscle and flesh; his face was unrecognizable, nothing more than a cracked, bleeding wreck. Bits of brain pushed up through the shattered skull, resembling graying hamburger meat.  
  
"Dunno, Bob." The other man, Dick Krychek, tugged the soaked raincoat closer to his body, shivering slightly in the frigid air. "I don't think this guy's SWAT, though; he's not wearing any identification. Why would he jump from the Central Planning Committee, anyway?" He grimaced, trying to shield himself from the shredding hail of crystalline water while he gazed apathetically at the body.  
  
"Was he carrying any guns?" Bob Adams, running a gritty, calloused hand through his dark black hair, inquired to his partner.  
  
"None that I could find, but he had some strange equipment on him. Real military stuff; high-tech night vision, some grenades, and a radio that looks like it might cost my year's salary." Krychek offered in reply, bending down to the corpse. He scanned every feature of the body that was still intact, taking note of the tattered and rent clothing, the manifold equipment pouches in its torn combat vest; he then noticed a small glint of cracked glass beneath the body.  
  
A sudden, brilliant burst of electricity fell from the heavens, splitting the rain-occupied skies; it was a roaring, speeding pulse of glimmering white-hot energy, encompassed by crackling azure streaks. It fully illuminated the streets, but the two officers on the scene were too occupied by the shattered vials that were made visible to even register the ear-splitting boom of thunder. A gentle drip of a sickly, greenish fluid still poured from one of the broken vessels, seeming to repel the tenacious pull of the rain.  
  
"What the hell's that stuff, Dick?" Adams questioned, inching forward to better assess just what the shattered glass vials held.  
  
"Some kind of designer drug? Maybe we should get a sample to the narcotics division." Krychek's suggestion drew an aggravated grunt from Adams.  
  
"Nah, I don't think that we should let this out of our authority until we find just who this nutcase is." Adams reached toward the jagged glass shards, an evidence bag in hand. Tentatively grasping at the sharp edges with glove-clad hands, he jolted and pulled away; a small trickle of blood dribbled down his index finger, a hole readily apparent in the glove.  
  
"You all right, Adams?" Krychek reached for his partner's hand, examining the slight gash. "Looks like just a small cut. Let's hope that's not some kind of drug, or you could be screwed." He snickered, releasing the slowly-bleeding appendage.  
  
"Yeah, right. I don't feel anything, so I think I'm okay. I think we should have this stuff tested, though." He tore off the glove, sucking irately at the digit; the minute amount of blood that it had wept had stopped, the wound already beginning to heal.  
  
With that, Krychek collected the glass containers in one sweep, depositing the shards and one undamaged vial unceremoniously into an evidence bag.  
  
"Heh, looks like you're just clumsy, Bob." Krychek chuckled, snapping off his gloves.  
  
"Yeah, why don't you bite me, Dick?" Adams sighed, awkwardly rising from the supine form of Mueller's corpse.  
  
"Sorry, got to get home early tonight." Krychek sniggered, slapping his friend good-naturedly on his broad, rubber-covered back, the drenched raincoat making a wet cracking sound. "You can stand to work alone tonight, right?"  
  
"Oh, but of course." Adams mumbled, nursing his aching finger; it had stopped bleeding, but it throbbed horribly, as though the green liquid was some type of engineered irritant. Within his body, however, the virus was already taking effect; trillions of insidious, ingeniously-crafted particles scattered about his bloodstream. They adhered themselves to the body's own cells, transforming them into engines of their own destruction; the virus' progeny were now in production, starting to multiply exponentially as they drifted about the canals and streams of their host. His fate was sealed.  
  
Stepping into the vehicle, the two men sent a message to the coroner, only receiving a bored, "roger that," in reply. Adams turned the keys, a sudden burst of roaring, stuttered noise erupting from the powerful vehicle's engine. The squeal of worn tires desperately trying to grip the soaked pavement soon followed, and the car disappeared from the alley in a flash of light; several officers milled about outside of the cramped, claustrophobic space that Mueller's body occupied, but none noticed the slow drain of the sickening, green-hued liquid into the drains; the water would soon be filtered back to the citizens of Neilson City, the process a result of their much-prized water recycling system.  
  
In the intermittent, stroboscopic flashes of white and blue lightning, Mueller's corpse slowly twitched, fingers awkwardly moving as though the action was completely foreign to what had once been a man. Its mutilated eyes slowly cracked open, the once-steely blue of the deep-set orbs now a dazed and widely opened sea of gray. Within the shattered, crumbling orifice of its mouth, a low, throaty, pining moan came; it grew until it reached a keening wail, a hungry, frustrated anguish like that of a starved animal.  
  
Then all was quiet, the abrupt spurt of activity seemingly lost to the impartial sheets of black clouds and pounding rain that hovered over the expansive city. But, in the abyss of darkness that was the secluded alley behind the towering skyscraper, the crushed muscles of its chest began to work again; gurgling, wet heaves for breath burst from the formerly dead being. In the periodic strikes of flickering lightning, broken bones and sinew slowly began to mend themselves, bringing new life to the obliterated, spiritless entity that had been Erwin Mueller.  
  
The relative peace of the alleyway, only intermittently disturbed by desperate gasps and the wet spray of rainwater, was destroyed by the howling siren of the coroner's van. Tires crunched over the various small obstacles presented by debris within the alley, suddenly stopping as the brilliant yellow glimmer of the headlights fell on the slowly-rebuilding monster. The van doors creaked open, two men in green raincoats filing dutifully out of the large vehicle. They tentatively approached the immobile, hibernating creature, not yet aware of the horrid secret that its broken façade concealed; they carried a water-streaked, black plastic bag with them.  
  
"'This this guy, Henderson?" One of the men asked dully, rubbing his darkness-obscured face.  
  
"Who else could it be?" Henderson replied with a sigh, scanning the alleyway.  
  
"Good point." The other man succinctly responded, his voice distracted and rife with exhaustion.  
  
The pair walked cautiously toward Mueller's body, before jolting as it wheezed painfully, its excruciating gasp for air making their eyes widen.  
  
"What the hell?! This guy's supposed to be dead! Jacobson, give me a hand here!" Henderson exclaimed, running up to the fallen mass of still- oozing tissue, blood, and flesh.  
  
Suddenly attentive, Jacobson joined his partner, staring intently down at the bloody hulk. "This guy should be dead. He fell from up there, I heard." He motioned emphatically at the building that surged up from the concrete base next to them.  
  
"Well, he's not. Shut up and help me lift him. I don't think he'll live for much longer; I don't think he'll live at all, though." Henderson grimaced, grasping the mangled arms of the body and trying to heft it up into a sitting position. Aided by Jacobson, his partner's face going white as some of the skin simply tore free, releasing a new river of blood over its gore-covered vest, he finally succeeded; its bones cracked and popped as it assumed its new stance.  
  
"This guy's not gonna make it, Henderson. What can we do?" Jacobson choked out, biting back the vomit that threatened to rise into his mouth.  
  
"Get him to a hospital, at the very least; I just don't get how anyone could take a fall from that height and not die. Didn't those idiots from homicide even check his pulse?" Henderson growled, disguising the fear and disgust looming over his mind with righteous anger. Reaching down, he pressed his fingers to the bloody and torn flesh of the body's neck, feeling for a pulse; he lurched back slightly when he felt the strong, consistent beat of the flowing blood through the nearly-exposed artery.  
  
"What's the matter, Henderson?" Jacobson wondered, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected reaction of his experienced partner.  
  
"H-his pulse. It's completely normal. How can that be?" Henderson stuttered, making an effort to lift the still-warm body.  
  
"What?! Jesus, let me help!" Jacobson grasped the former-cadaver's back, helping to raise it to its feet; the two then dragged it forward, wincing at the hideous cracking sounds the feet made as they scraped along the rough cement.  
  
Small rivulets of thick, crimson blood dribbled onto the pair as they lugged the desperately-breathing body back to the van; its eyes had opened again, unnoticed by the coroners that had become its saviors. The once- grayed eyes, however, had become narrow, radiant red slits; the beads of brilliant, heated ruby quivered, shifting to and fro as it familiarized itself with its surroundings. Its old mind had left it, any vestiges of humanity having been torn away with its plummet from the giant building, but it had developed a new consciousness; pulsating thoughts cascaded through the reforming brain. Thoughts of what it could salvage from what remained of the old "owner's" mind, meaningless recollections of past events that it didn't comprehend. It formed a new life for itself, the swift mending of the brain letting it mature in a matter of minutes; it could only see its needs and desires.  
  
'Food,' a small voice tugged at the creature's brain. 'You need food to live. You need to live to be free. You need to make more of you.' Its head tried to twist, but it was held back by the insistent hands of the bewildered coroner that held him.  
  
"Hey, Henderson, he's starting to move!" Jacobson hollered from the back of the dark van cabin, his partner manning the wheel of the speeding vehicle.  
  
"Keep him still! With that kind of trauma, he shouldn't even stir at all!" Henderson growled, jerking about in his seat as he navigated the mostly-deserted streets.  
  
'These two will do.' The voice was reaching a deafening pitch, tormenting the forming identity of the new creature. 'They will be your food. Make them your food.' It tried to question what was talking, why it could hear the voice and the blurred shape of the thing holding it couldn't. 'You mustn't disobey me,' the voice prodded, and the creature's lips slowly parted; the jaw muscles and bones had healed, a new strength endowed to them. Its teeth, formerly crushed, jagged knobs of bloody bone protruding through its gums had arisen again; they were sharp, lethal instruments, wet with bloody saliva.  
  
"Gyah!" The monster moaned, a lusting, feral hunger pervading its animalistic voice. "Myyyyyyyy." A coherent word tumbled from its reformed mouth, slurred and pained. "Fooooood." With that, its face shot forward at the exposed neck of the awe-struck Jacobson, the razor-sharp, jagged surfaces of the newfound teeth digging into his soft, frail flesh. With a sickening, gruesome tearing, the skin gave way, a fountain of dark gore spurting from the wide opening the bite produced. Incited by the warm, metallic flavor, the creature continued to rip away at the struggling form of Jacobson despite his impassioned, agonized screams. It could feel the man's lifeblood surging into its own body, supplementing its returning strength; the tension in its skull was being relieved, the nagging demand for food beginning to abate.  
  
"What the fuck is going on back there?!" Henderson shouted, slamming his foot against the brake pedal; the heavy van came to an abrupt stop, the feasting body of the creature hurtling forward in the cabin.  
  
The creature could feel as much as hear the voice again, 'get up. He's bad. He wants to stop you. He's food, too.' It was like a lecturing parent with a small child, describing its goals in the simplest of terms.  
  
"Bad." The monster groaned, starting to raise itself off of the frigid, metal surface of the floor. "Yoouuu. Bad. Eat." It growled its thoughts, the regenerating throat tissue still leaking dark ichors as it throbbed.  
  
"What?! What the hell are you?!" Henderson stumbled back, the bent, teetering shape of the beast shuffling toward him.  
  
"Hungry. Tasty." It moaned, its thick, bloated tongue sliding over its lips; it collected the blood that had collected there, the crimson fluids sending a shiver of excitement through its lurching body.  
  
"Stay away from me! Stay away!" Henderson cried, his body quaking as he stumbled, crumpling to the ground near the dash of the van. "Don't come any closer!" He reached for the revolver that he kept near his seat, clutching the chilly steel of the grip. He desperately tried to raise it, the barrel arcing and wavering as he unsteadily trained the muzzle on the bewildered creature. Squeezing the chilly crescent of the trigger, the barrel snapped upward, a brilliant flare of orange blasting from the glimmering metal.  
  
As the bullet smacked into the creature's chest with a dull, fleshy sound, it jolted back, staring down at the slowly-dripping wound perplexedly. The low-caliber round had found one of the manifold tears in the flak jacket, shredding reforming bone and muscle as it lodged itself into the gut of the now-still horror. It sniffed the air confusedly, tilting its head and then staring down curiously at the rounded wound in its stomach. It stood there for several seconds, the coroner gazing up at it in a tense, confused silence.  
  
"Hurt. Bad." The words tumbled free from the terror's cavernous, blood-stained mouth, and it started toward the petrified man again. The stinging, oppressive stench of its own blood seemed to compel it to move faster; its reddened eyes were blazing with fury.  
  
Henderson, paralyzed with an all-consuming terror, just stared into the murderous eyes of the dreaded beast as it lunged at his throat; his mouth opened in a mute shriek as it began to feed, his body twitching and flailing in a futile effort to escape the grasp of the heinous fiend. Sickening spurts of blood shot into the air, staining the monster's torn clothing and Henderson's own body as the inhuman abomination feasted, tearing free flesh and slurping it down with a seemingly insatiable appetite. Soon, all of Henderson's pain had disappeared, being replaced by a pervasive, senseless black; the slow trickle of viral particles into his broken and ripped body ensured that he would once again arise.  
  
Its vile desire for blood and flesh satiated, the beast slowly rose from the obliterated body of Henderson. The immobile body still quivered slightly, occasional, base impulses coursing through its deadened nervous system, but all semblance of humanity and consciousness had been devoured by tearing, gnashing teeth of the creature. It had fostered two offspring, another pair of odious perversions of science that would soon rise to fulfill their most primal purpose; they would feed and propagate the abhorrent life of the virus.  
  
"Good. Tastes good." The being that had once been Mueller snarled, appraising the fallen forms of the coroners. It had some primitive comprehension of their lack of life, and slowly cocked its head; the harsh, glimmering red of its eyes blinked several times, trying to fathom its own deed. Its flesh had all but been repaired, barely any indication of the severity of its wounds remaining. Turning away from the grotesque, maimed, flaccid bodies, it gripped the door handle with the uncertainty of a baby taking its first steps; a tentative rotation of its creaking wrist wrenched open the barrier to its progress, and it stepped slowly out onto the drenched pavement. For the first time, the consciousness that had come to exist in the formerly-abandoned body took notice of its surroundings, and stared up into the sky that seemed to have been broken open, a cataclysmic shower of shredding, icy rivulets hammering all that dared to stand beneath.  
  
The being paid it no heed, instead taking more fluid, coordinated steps; soon its footfalls sped up in rapidity, the hideous entity running heedlessly along the abandoned streets. Within the blood-drenched interior of the van, as the last embers of life were extinguished from the forms of Jacobson and Henderson, their clothing shredded, their bodies disfigured and torn asunder, a new awareness took root within their now-vacant minds. A slight impulse sped through their nervous systems, and, almost in unison, a pair of fingers twitched. 


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I  
  
assert no ownership of it. If by their request, or the request of an  
  
authorized representative, I shall immediately remove this work from  
  
fanfiction.net.  
  
Outbreak: Chapter Five  
  
Neilson City Central Planning Commission, Neilson City  
  
Two Hours Later  
  
"What the hell was he talking about, Mikhail?" Appolonia whispered, her soft, solemn outburst almost indiscernible above the staccato splatter of icy, harsh raindrops against the concrete rooftop.  
  
"I've got no idea, Appolonia.. No idea at all." Mikhail gaped down at the void of impenetrable darkness beneath the summit of the humongous building; he couldn't distinguish any features of the barren, waterlogged streets beneath.  
  
"He's dead now, anyway. I still don't like this, especially what he called 'Omega.'" She leaned against the edge of the rooftop barrier, ignoring the intense jab of the jutting lip of smooth rock against her back. "And what of those frog monsters in the labs? Do you think he let those loose, too?"  
  
"Couldn't tell you," Mikhail just mumbled noncommittally, straining to see to the cracked and pitted pavement thousands of feet beneath him; sporadic streaks of azure electricity pierced the dense blackness of the sky around them, highlighting the benign features of the expansive forest of glass and steel that seemed to have been spawned from their central perch.  
  
"Jesus, Mikhail, could you at least tell me what you're thinking?" Appolonia growled loudly, sour frustration rising up in her brain; the deadening shock that had dulled her mind because of the transpirations in the few hours before had started to wear off, replaced by a directionless fury. She resented that the culprit of the vile acts was lying peacefully, though probably in several pieces, beneath them.  
  
"What do you want me to say, Appolonia?" Mikhail leapt back, staring directly at her; his eyes held a chilly, electric fury. "What can I say? The asshole's dead, our team's dead, and whatever was in the lab is probably roaming the building." He almost snarled, confrontationally inching closer to her like a rival animal fighting for territory; it was a feral display as he brought his comparatively huge height to bear on her.  
  
She just looked back up at him, black eyes glinting with a dangerous flame. "Just say what the fuck is on your mind, Mikhail!" She roared, her glove-clad hands tensing into anxious fists.  
  
"Fine, Appolonia, I'm thinking that this is one goddamn shitty situation, that our lunatic commander probably just released some kind of doomsday weapon, and I'm really not relishing trying to get the hell out of this building with so many freaks of nature running around. Happy?" His thickly-accented voice carried a sub-zero chill, and he turned around with a huff, staring back down into the depths of the chasm of the alleyway.  
  
"Yeah, I'm happy. I'm real goddamn happy, Mikhail." She ruefully sneered, barking a short, hateful laugh. "I'm so glad that our team is dead, that we're probably gonna die here, too..." Appolonia reached up and grasped his arm with a vice-like grip, making even the giant wince with the fury of the hold. "Listen to me, Mikhail; we have to get outta this hellhole before it swallows us whole."  
  
He turned, one eyebrow quirked condescendingly. "Oh, and how're we going to do that? We don't have a helicopter, and I don't think Umbrella will be very happy to hear that their competitors sabotaged their operation, so I think that pretty much rules them out as someone who could help."  
  
"What about the police?" Appolonia asked with startling clarity, acting as though it had been an astonishing epiphany. "Why can't we just ask for assistance from them?"  
  
"That would work if we weren't heavily-armed and trespassing on city property.. Not to mention that we've pretty much guaranteed that something unpleasant is wandering around down there." Mikhail bit his lip pensively, still mulling over the idea despite his dismissal.  
  
"I suppose you're right. We could still flee the city on foot, and maybe call for a chopper once we're in the desert." Appolonia mumbled contemplatively, staring up at the thick, atmospheric soup above them; the oppressive humidity was a palpable haze that clung to them, the stickiness an odd juxtaposition to the pervasive chill of the night air.  
  
"I think we might have to do that. Even if we have to shoot a few of those monsters from the labs, at least we'll be out of the rain." Mikhail affirmed calmly, a slight smile cracking his serious face; it was a silent apology, and he clasped a hand around one of Appolonia's wiry, wet cloth- covered arms.  
  
"If nothing else, it'll be nice to kill something, huh, Mikhail?" She tilted her head, sopping tendrils of hair slapping wetly against her cheek; a small smile graced her darkened, olive-skinned face, and she loosened her clutch on Mikhail's wide limb.  
  
"Yeah, but don't go getting sentimental on me, Appolonia." Mikhail released her arm, letting it fall languidly back to her side. "Come on; let's get out of this downpour." Her stared up again, allowing the glacial chill of the rain flow down the angular contours of his features; the cold soothed away the last remnants of his smoldering hatred, letting him think clearly again.  
  
Appolonia nodded in agreement, and started back to the gaping, buzzing entryway of the bloodstained emergency elevator. Snatching up the comforting mass of the sub-machinegun on the way, she all-but-collapsed within the confines of the dry cubicle; the muted, rapid beat of the raindrops on the concrete roof was a calming litany, and she felt herself letting go of the tension that had built for the entire night. Unconsciously, her eyelids just seemed to crash down, the small beads of crystalline water that had developed on her eyelashes falling free over her drying face at the sudden descent. The broken droplets cascaded down her face in languid arcs, miniature tears that she, herself, couldn't shed; in her semi-conscious state, she replayed the time since Mueller had betrayed them, almost wishing for the relief genuine crying would provide. She was on the border between sleep and wakefulness, the tenacious drone of rain somehow sapping the life from her.  
  
The leisurely thumps of Mikhail's boots in the elevator broke her from her dark reverie, and she snapped to attention, her now-open eyes rising to meet Mikhail's.  
  
"You okay, Appolonia?" Mikhail eyed her curiously, waving a massive hand before her eyes. "You sort of dozed off for a minute."  
  
"Just tired, Mikhail," the words were interrupted by a slow, sighing yawn. "I'm really tired, actually. I don't think we can just fall asleep in the elevator, though. I can make it." She asserted, contesting Mikhail's unspoken thoughts about her condition.  
  
"I don't think we have much of a choice, anyway, Appolonia." Mikhail pressed a switch on a bloodied panel; the once-green light shone with a sickly blue glow, the thin sheen of thickening crimson tainting the coloring.  
  
Appolonia leaned back against the chilly, uninviting, stained steel of the elevator, letting her eyes flutter shut again. Her lips quirking up into a slight smirk, she murmured, "don't worry; just tell me when we reach the ground floor, Mikhail."  
  
"I'm sure you'll be really fun to wake, too, Appolonia." Mikhail shot back with a soft chuckle, trying to control the yawn that threatened to erupt as he spoke. An inexplicable exhaustion had begun to creep slowly into the forefront of his mind, frustrating his efforts to stay alert. With a rapid shake of his head, sending glistening specks of warming water about the tiny cabin, he fixed his eyes on the flickering digital display above his head. Numbers rapidly ticked by, gradually, inexorably advancing toward that coveted '0.'  
  
The persistent, staggered hum of the occasionally-creaking elevator car was an unnatural lullaby, blending with the muted drumming of the torrent of water splattering across the building into a soothing, wordless song; it sent Appolonia's mind regressing into its deepest vestiges. Longing for the darkened apathy of sleep, she contented herself with small spurts of intense rest; she forced her eyes to open intermittently, determined to not collapse completely.  
  
"We've arrived." Mikhail abruptly snapped, startled as the sudden jar of the halting elevator jolted him unpleasantly from his near-trance. "Get up, Appolonia; we've got to get moving." He compulsively snapped back the charging lever on the sinister black form of his assault rifle, letting it crash back against its thick aluminum confines with a hollow clang.  
  
"Gimme a minute..." Appolonia slurred, stirring in her awkward sleeping position; she was slumped against the blood-smeared, dingy side of the elevator, her deep, content breathing indicating that she'd succumbed at some point during the ride to the desire to rest.  
  
"Come on, we can't afford to wait any longer." Mikhail prodded, his voice growing slightly frustrated.  
  
"Don't wanna go. Lemme alone." She shrunk away from Mikhail's insistent askance, clutching her sub-machinegun life a child would a teddy bear; it was an odd clash of baleful maturity and youthful innocence.  
  
"Damn it, Appolonia!" Mikhail growled exasperatedly, reaching over to grab her arm with a demanding pressure. He shook her lightly, inciting an agitated reply from the reclined woman; the chilled muzzle of her large sub-machinegun pressed roughly against the whisker-dotted flesh of his chin, making his ordinarily serene eyes widen in surprise.  
  
"I'm awake." Appolonia bit out matter-of-factly, lowering the smooth ring of the barrel away from his chin. "Sorry about that; it's an instinct of mine."  
  
"Just glad it's not an instinct to also pull the trigger." Mikhail tentatively laughed, stepping away from her and offering a gloved hand.  
  
"'Don't think that's ever happened," Appolonia drolly mumbled, grasping the offered hand and hoisting herself to her feet; she stretched languidly, her body rolling in a fluid movement that was almost feline.  
  
"'Don't think,' huh? At least it didn't happen this time." Mikhail smirked, resting a hand atop the blinking button marked 'open.' "Are you ready to do it, Appolonia?"  
  
"As ready as I'll ever be. Let's just get this over with and escape the city." She affirmed, raising the comforting weight of the sub- machinegun's stock to a slowly-drying shoulder. When the elevator doors parted with a soft, metallic squeak, she peered out intently, sweeping the rings of the gun sights over the expansive atrium ahead of them.  
  
Only an ominous, deafening silence greeted the pair as they slowly, cautiously crept into the cavernous entry hall. Previously, they had not had time to really assess the truly splendorous elegance of the towering vestibule, but this time they scoured every inch of the glass-enclosed marvel. It had seemed earlier that shutters had been drawn across the vast, untarnished walls of glass, but it was truly the overwhelming darkness produced by the humongous building's shadow that enveloped the entire ground floor; rapidly flowing streams of blued water ran across the tinted windows, sending odd, undulating shadows across the barren floors.  
  
"We never closed those doors to the labs," Mikhail whispered heatedly, harshly, the soft outburst resounding like a hushed shout in the yawning foyer. "Why didn't those things," he furrowed his eyebrows, not truly certain what to call the horrors that they'd seen, "come out? They looked like they were ready to burst through those steel doors, didn't they?"  
  
"Just be glad that we're alone right now," Appolonia shot back, twisting her body as she shot forward, the rapid thrumming of her boots on the heavy tile flooring booming through the massive space surrounding them. When she reached the oddly comforting island of the front desk in the midst of the vacant ocean of glass, steel and resin, she stopped, her chest heaving slightly. "I don't see anything here, but the power's still down. This computer won't turn on." she pushed the power switch several times as if to prove her point. "I think we're pretty much SOL here unless we just want to shoot open those electronically-locked doors.  
  
"What about the labs, Appolonia?" Mikhail called back to her, his voice a thunderous roar, almost as menacing as the hushed crashes outside. "Do you think they might have an emergency exit, or at least some type of means of contacting the outside?"  
  
"Remember what's in the labs, Mikhail?" She lectured mock- condescendingly, a sigh escaping her. "I'm sure whatever didn't come up here to join us is in the lab complex, ready to slaughter anybody that enters."  
  
"Do we have any other choice? What if those doors are bullet-proof?" Mikhail raised the heavy rifle to his shoulder, sighting a pane; it glinted and flickered occasionally as azure bolts traced across the sky.  
  
"We still need to try first." Appolonia suggested, resting her hands against the cool metal of the desk.  
  
"Yeah, I know." Mikhail retorted, steadying the slightly-wavering muzzle of the rifle. A rapid, roaring staccato series of booms followed, small splinters spewing forth from the dense glass in reply; when the magazine clicked empty, the blinding sun-flares erupting from the barrel receding in the face of the darkness, only a long spider's web of cracks were visible on the wounded pane. It still held firm in the face of the barrage, however, its lack of any severe damage taunting the pair.  
  
"Damn it... A full magazine of five-five-six, and it didn't even shatter; nothing even pierced it." Appolonia loudly lamented, slamming her hands against the desk, eliciting a low, throaty clang.  
  
"Wait, the demolition team had thermite bombs and incendiary grenades, didn't they?" Mikhail started, his eyes widening with the epiphany.  
  
"That's right, but they're all down in the labs." Appolonia frowned, the horrific sight of the twisted, mangled, bloody forms of her friends and compatriots flashing through her racing mind. "But I guess we have no choice; let's just hope the door didn't close and lock behind us."  
  
"Let's hope not, or we're stuck." Mikhail let his eyes wander across the glimmering, immaculate glass ceiling; the rain had not broken, and perhaps had even worsened. Deafening hails of ear-shattering impacts began to fall upon the sturdy glass, overwhelming even the rolling thunder outside the building that could very well be their tomb. The murky silhouette of the skyline was blotted out entirely by the torrential downpour that showed no signs of relinquishing its tyrannical grasp on the city; even the towering shadow of the veritable obelisk rising from their floor was overcome by the rain.  
  
"If we're stuck, we're stuck; just remember to save some bullets for us, comrade." She joked, trying to lighten the thick mood of despair that enveloped them, but the words came out too serious for her liking; they rang too true to what they might expect to happen. Unlike the citizens that would soon be inexplicably struck by the malady that had been released, the pair had some inkling of the work of Umbrella; they had been briefed to a limited extent about their bio-warfare program. They did not, however, know of the true terrors Umbrella had forged in their hellish labs; the viruses and mutated beasts that carried a walking death-sentence- Progenitor, Tyrant, Gamma, and Omega, their pride and joy.  
  
A low, resonant thumping followed their tentative steps to the door that lurked ominously in the distance; the hideous guardians to the gates of a manmade hell silently snarled, seemingly exhorting them to leave. A pure, glittering white shaft of light shone through the portal to what was almost another dimension of human existence, lighting the grayed marble of the corridor that led to the entrance.  
  
"It's time, isn't it? We have to go back in there." Appolonia whispered, as much to the gruesome gargoyles as to her friend and only remaining teammate.  
  
"Da, I don't think there's any other way. What is it that you say, the moment of truth?" He braced himself beside one of the fanged mouths of the left Cerberus, peering inside the blinding maze of glowing lights and alabaster hallways.  
  
"The moment of truth." She secretly wondered if she'd really like to know the truth of this matter, but started inside; her steps wavered slightly, but she persisted undauntedly.  
  
Mikhail's tentative footsteps followed hers into the blindingly-lit cavern, the strange acoustics of the winding halls making it seem as though they were being assailed from every direction by the clamorous noise of soft, synthetic rubber on hard, sterile linoleum. Suddenly, there was a roaring crash in the distance, a deafening, agonizing squealing of tearing metal and sharp talons against tile, and then silence reigned. The abrupt outburst of noise had stunned the two, their hearts racing at the prospect of meeting whatever had made the horrid sound. Straining, they could hear a soft tap-tap-tap of claws echoing on the drum-like ground, but it, too, disappeared.  
  
"What in the hell was that, Mikhail?" Appolonia gasped, straining for air; during the brief, cacophonous pandemonium, she had forgotten to breathe.  
  
"I don't know, Appolonia, but I don't want to see it, whatever it is. It sounded like the monsters from the stories that my parents used to scare me with back home in Russia.. Those ridiculous fairy tales of unholy beasts and hideous demons that prowled the earth solely to torture and kill.." He shook his head, readying the matte-black assault rifle. "But in those stories, their victims didn't have guns. Plus, monsters aren't real, anyway." He sounded as though he was desperately trying to rationalize, denying the problem to make it disappear.  
  
"My mother used to tell me about Cinderella and Prince Charming; maybe Prince Charming's just got some horrible gas." Appolonia sniggered weakly, barely mustering a smile; both were far from home, lost in an industrial hell that had been unimaginable only days before.  
  
They started ahead again, their eyes neurotically darting back and forth among the homogenous white corridors. The lack of substance and change was disheartening, seeming to be an infinite maze that wound back upon itself to infinity, never to allow anyone to leave. Mere hours ago, they had trekked fearlessly through in the company of their own friends and a commander that they thought they could trust; now, they trembled with every step, not wanting to move ahead another inch for fear of meeting just what the laboratory could hold in store for them.  
  
"Does this lab look different than it did before?" Appolonia whispered, intently scanning the broad passageway.  
  
"It seems a lot longer than I remember." Mikhail replied perplexedly, waving the muzzle of the gun to and fro.  
  
"Wait, I see Adolf's blood; we can't be far." Appolonia pointed to the crusting puddles of dark red scattered about the passage.  
  
"It feels like that was days ago." Mikhail shook his head, clearing his mind of the fury threatening to rise up again.  
  
"I wish that it were days ago; I wish that we were back at the base, sitting at the debriefing and telling everyone that they'd been duped by that son of a bitch." Appolonia growled, letting the annoyance and sheer anger overcome her fear and trepidation.  
  
"I like that a lot, too." Mikhail agreed, and began to advance, following the flecks of dried blood like a relentless hound.  
  
Appolonia followed acquiescently behind her hulking friend, the midnight black, moving shield somehow a comforting sight in the midst of the gleaming white walls. They continued to slowly, almost ponderously, progress through the hall, weapons raised and expecting any of the sundry creatures they imagined emerging from every crevice. When they reached the painful, horrid site of their squad's ruthless massacre, they found nothing but an oozing, spreading puddle of thick, crimson gore and bits of torn tissue. Only a single limb remained, fingers spread as though the arm's owner had been clutching for life as it died. Rent, limp arteries and veins hung from the ripped bicep where it had been wrested away from its rightful body, slow pulses of blood still sporadically spurting with a deliberate patter on the drenched white flooring. It seemed to be floating in a pool of thick, gooey red, a ghastly island surrounded by a gruesome sea.  
  
"Oh, my god.." Appolonia gasped, her gorge rising in her stomach. "What happened here? They were all here when we left. Those... Those things," she paused, wondering just what to call the vile creature that had stolen and mutilated the bodies of her colleagues, "must have done it."  
  
"We have to track down the demolitions team, Appolonia, to get out of here.. No matter just what's happened to them." Mikhail lowered a weighty, warm hand onto his friend's shoulder, trying to calm her as he struggled to contain his own revulsion.  
  
"I know we do, Mikhail; it's going to be hard, though." She motioned hesitantly to the divergent paths of smeared blood that continued for hundreds of meters along every branch of the twisting corridors.  
  
"Warning," a cold, controlled woman's voice crackled through invisible speakers mounted in the walls, "bio-hazardous outbreak detected; sealing laboratory complex to prevent further contamination. All personnel, report to your emergency stations for level four advisory. Escape of fifteen specimens has been confirmed. All security personnel are to contact UBCS and pertinent agencies for control." In the distance, the thunderous clang of the main entrance slamming closed echoed ominously.  
  
"We're trapped.." Mikhail whispered solemnly, the giant arm resting atop Appolonia's shoulder quivering almost imperceptibly.  
  
As he finished, an animalistic, ear-splitting shriek pierced the silence that had suddenly set on, followed by a staccato series of clacks across the linoleum; an otherworldly, clicking call followed it, more claws skittering over the hard surface of the hallway. The noises rapidly approached, and something slowly emerged from the expansive hallway.  
  
Its jagged, spiny, brown insect-like exoskeleton glimmered with a slimy, dripping goop beneath the intense overhead lighting. A gaping maw, lined with jagged, blood-drenched teeth opened beneath a pair of twitching compound eyes. Its manifold legs scrabbled across the smooth surface of the flooring. Giant, lacerating, scythe-like talons tipped the spindly limbs, making a sinister clack-clack-clack as it intently approached the pair. With a screeching, hateful roar, it charged, mandible open and eyes ablaze with fearsome instinct. 


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is a copyright of Capcom, inc., and I  
  
assert no ownership of it. If by their request, or the request of an  
  
authorized representative, I shall immediately remove this work from  
  
fanfiction.net.  
  
Outbreak: Chapter Six  
  
Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, Incorporated; Central Offices, New York, New York  
  
Three Hours Later  
  
"Is this true?" A lone, harsh, anger-laden voice shattered the silence that had previously only been interrupted by the persistent drone of the thrumming air-conditioner. "Are you certain that contact has been lost with Neilson City?"  
  
"The Central Planning Commission's lab complex is incommunicado, Sir." The second speaker replied smoothly, coolly; he seemed to be utterly unflappable.  
  
"Then why the hell aren't you and your idiot Operations team doing something about it?!" The first man snapped, whirling around; the long, slender silk tie that hung loosely around his neck flapping like a thin crimson flag. The tie was nearly coming free from the crumpled and ruffled off-white of the shirt that sagged from his narrow shoulders, revealing sallow skin that seemed to have never been exposed to anything but the dull, unnatural lighting of his office.  
  
"With all due respect, Mr. Ashford, we just recently received confirmation of it; it's not only because of the worsening maelstrom that's hovering over the city." He casually, absently pushed the dim, wiry frames of his sunglasses back up to the bridge of his nose; apathetic, taciturn crystals of blue and white stared analytically at the seething man before him.  
  
"'With all due respect,' Noster?! Goddamn it, I just lost contact with the city that I built with what may as well have been my own two hands, and all you can tell me is that?!" Ashford growled furiously, his slender, almost emaciated, body quivering with rage. His graying, tousled hair hung in frayed, limp strands before the smoldering, hateful green of his eyes; he had confined himself to the luxurious, sprawling room for nearly five hours, intently studying the maps and grids labeled with only a single word: 'Neilson.'  
  
"Mr. Ashford, I can assure you that UBCS and our own Black Operations will be deploying within the hour. The main issue complicating these matters is that the storm is disrupting our normal communications link with the surrounding Neilson Guard units. We'll have them on Sat-phone within ten minutes." Noster indifferently rattled-off to his superior, barely making an effort to sound appeasing. Internally, he wondered just how the incompetent, spoiled, impatient man before him had ever inherited the Umbrella Corporation, nepotism aside.  
  
"You'd better have them, Noster, or else it'll be your ass! Damn it, I will not lose this project only a few months after I started it! I built that city, and I won't lose it to any insurgents, or to a goddamn storm!" Ashford nearly screamed, slamming his wiry, frail hands against the chilly, dense surface of the office's paper-strewn desk.  
  
"I understand, Mr. Ashford. Everything will be resolved soon." Noster turned smoothly, only the neatly-tailored back of his characteristic black suit and his short-cropped, red-streaked black hair facing his fuming employer.  
  
"If it's not, Noster, you should know what will happen." Ashford spat, lowering his eyes back to the scattered maps and charts on his disorganized desk. The ineffectual threat elicited a rare smile over his subordinate's darkened face, the concept of his employer killing his most trusted employee seeming to epitomize the absurd.  
  
"Of course, Mr. Ashford; there will be no reason for such rash actions." Noster slowly, languidly closed the dense, highly-glossed oak doors to the palatial accommodations of his boss. He turned slowly, staring up at the large brass door plate, embossed with, 'Alister Ashford.' He studied the self-aggrandizing monument to power with almost childlike curiosity, and then turned back to the expansive, wide, glass-lined corridors of the high-rise.  
  
His lax, deliberate footfalls echoing through the vacant halls were the only sound in a structure that ordinarily was rife with a diverse cacophony of life and noise. On a whim, he stopped before one of the panoramic, diaphanous windows in the grid of perfect, symmetrical panes of glass, gazing distractedly out at the world that seemed detached from the plane of life within the building.  
  
He intently watched the various happenings in the brilliantly-lit city beneath him, and rested his darkly-tanned hands on the chilled, dense glass. He traced the various glittering gems of the neon signs and the broadly-opened windows of luxury apartments with a single fingertip; a smile cracked his icy features, the thought that he, himself, being able to control all of what he saw inciting a swelling sense of pride inside his chest.  
  
"That old fool. He'll never have the power that I've accumulated; he'll never know what it's like to do anything with his life. He just snaps his fingers and his servants give him what's due from daddy's purse. But I, I know what it's like to have power." He mumbled, his mendacious thoughts making the sinister smile expand; it seemed to cover his face with dulled white fangs.  
  
He gazed interestedly down at a single pedestrian, isolating the solitary body out of the hundreds that paced to and fro on the blazing, parched streets that hadn't cooled after the setting of the furious, searing sun. The lithe, slender, agile body weaved in and out of the flood of the masses, the intense black of her hair somehow more overt than the lights flickering on above her; the flowing tresses seemed to draw in the light like a black hole, and they similarly drew his captivation. There was nothing particularly remarkable about her besides that; he didn't even know her. The intent way that she smoothly, effortlessly went against the flowing current of human flesh, however, seemed special to him; it reminded him of that woman, Appolonia, for whom he had left that cassette. Unbeknownst to his superior, he had just returned from the outskirts of Neilson; he had ensured that the storm would prevent immediate contact.  
  
"That woman will be able to hold out for a long time. I have complete faith in that she won't disappoint me. I just hope that she, and that fool Harmon, realize what I've done for them; what I've done for the simpering, idiotic little sycophants in congress that will soon be begging for a part in the HCF 'plan for the future.'" He felt a sense of disappointment as the woman seemingly winked out of existence, her magical, dark hair and swift body disappearing in the inky dark of the distance.  
  
"If only that idiot Ashford knew what I could have done for him. If only he had known what to do with the power that I had offered him. Umbrella opened Pandora's Box, but they couldn't find any of the hope at the bottom. They won't be able to survive this new reign of terror that will erupt in Neilson; it's regrettable that so many will have to be sacrificed, that Neilson will be the sepulcher of unknown thousands." Noster reflected briefly on why he could speak the words, but couldn't truly drum up any genuine remorse or regret.  
  
"Sociopath?" He whispered one of the words that he had heard thrown about, but merely dismissed the overly-clinical term with a languid roll of his broad, muscular shoulders beneath his thin black suit. "Megalomaniac." He affirmed with a slow nod, wondering why people believed that such overriding ambition carried such a negative connotation.  
  
"It's because people are weak," he answered for himself. "People are afraid of power and afraid of the responsibility it brings. They're idiots." He turned away from the excited, buzzing flicker of the garden of radiant neon outside the windows. "I have no reason to feel sad about those people that are about to find their lives crushed for a cause greater than themselves." A slow, needling twinge of nausea erupted in his gut at the words, but he shook his head, quashing the contrite sentiment; he couldn't afford to feel any type of weakness.  
  
A rapid, staccato thunder of his running feet across the hard, unrelenting linoleum floor resonated through the dimly-lit hallway. He scanned the engraved plates tacked to the various doors compulsively as they flashed through his wide eyes, even though he'd already memorized the layout of the sprawling complex many times. It was a calming act, relieving the uncharacteristic flood of emotions that threatened to break through his icy façade. He wanted to be in the form that people expected when he arrived at the gloomy, ominous office marked with only a single word: 'Operations.'  
  
His body continued to dart unchallenged through the winding passages, the lighting growing progressively dimmer and more foreboding. Soon, scattered patrols of ghostly, dark shapes began to flicker in and out of his vision, the armed men not even flinching from their statuesque stances as he sprinted past. His blood pumped fluidly, a throbbing rumble periodically pronouncing itself in his ears as a slow trickle of glittering sweat formed a thin river down his face. Finally slowing, he arrived at the revered room that was shrouded in a veil of secrecy, even to the most senior of Umbrella's staff; the innocuous room held the key to the entire corporation's dominance, its private army, and its assortment of strategic armaments.  
  
It was one of the few realms in the corporate empire's dominion that he respected, and he took great pride in being its lord; he reflected that he may as well have been the most powerful man in America, for not even the president knew just from where the missile that had sealed Raccoon's fate in a cauldron of smoldering nuclear fire had come- he did. He had given the order himself, realizing that the political wrangling had failed; no one could know at that time just who was responsible for the catastrophe.  
  
"This time, it will be different." He muttered to himself, the soft utterance falling only upon the deaf ears of Umbrella's human automatons; the elite guards had sworn their loyalty in blood to him, unable to act on any order but his own.  
  
He fumbled within his damp, warm pockets for the cold, engraved plastic of the personalized keycard, and victoriously withdrew the small, flattened rectangle; he scanned the complete array of data that amounted to little more than a thin fallacy, a shadow fabricated out of the most fragile fabric of human imagination. There was no Trent Noster, thirty-six years of age, educated at Georgetown University, single, blood type O-, Commander of Operations Corps, Umbrella Central Offices. His entire existence was a lie that he'd made out of convenience, someday hoping to find himself in the position that he had now achieved.  
  
He shook his head, sliding the thin object through the pulsating red beam of the card-reader; an affirmative beep indicated that his deception still held true, and the lock released with a swift, gentle click. He reflected that it may as well have been useless to bother remembering the swimming shadows of a past long forgotten, which now only arose in his darkest dreams, when the reality that he had embraced was more real than the truth. He wondered if even he could distinguish between his faux- existence and his true life.  
  
He quickly, purposefully threw open the heavy steel door to the Operations Center, the roaring clatter of the metal against the brick walls jolting the scattered forms of his subordinates from their varying states of rest.  
  
"Commander!" A dark, muscular shadow of black, his face obscured beneath the hanging lip of his beret, snapped to attention. "We're ready for your orders."  
  
"Have you managed to get into contact with Neilson City's Operation Center?" Noster calmly inquired, slowly closing the dense door behind him. He didn't bother to remove the ubiquitous sunglasses, even within the cool, sunless depths of the room, lit only by the flickering computer monitors and the single buzzing, fluorescent computerized map that occupied the center of the wide, cavernous space.  
  
"Yes, Sir. They're just as confused as we are; they've been SOL in reaching the Neilson Central Planning Commission. We have to assume the worst." The man turned to a keyboard, tapping in a rapid series of commands. "As you can see," he pointed to the diagram of the city that flickered to life on the map; an undulating, growing mass of red and orange swirled over the topographical display of Neilson City. "Neilson is now engulfed by a storm unlike anything we've ever seen that far inland. NOAA's got no idea about what caused it, but the Doppler isn't lying, Sir. We think that the central antenna array might've been knocked out of commission by the storm, but that's just about the only theory we've got to go on. And I think it's a damn flimsy one, since it can theoretically survive a small bomb and keep on ticking." He gruffly groaned, shaking his head emphatically.  
  
"Do you have any other leads, Dobson? Any unauthorized flights into the city?" Noster desperately tried to restrain his grin, greatly enjoying giving vague hints to his very competent subordinates about what was happening; it was almost a game, guessing at when they might fit together the pieces.  
  
"Neilson City Airport detected what they thought was a pair of aircraft, but it might've just been some anomaly caused by the storm, since the blips were too small to be helicopters." Dobson rubbed his darkness- shrouded face, a soft rustling of jagged whiskers against a calloused hand cutting into the unnatural noise of the computers.  
  
"Any other ideas, gentlemen?" Noster asked the other anonymous bodies leaning over cluttered desks.  
  
"I dunno, Sir, but the raid idea sounds pretty plausible." Another man chimed in, his voice more youthful than the other speaker. "I mean, after all, they coulda been using the new XR-75 stealth helicopters." The younger man offered with a cheeky grin to Dobson as much as Noster.  
  
"I guess we might have to consider that a possibility, no matter how much I don't like it." Dobson sighed, his fingers clacking sharply on the keyboard as he typed in a new series of commands. This time, the skeletal wire-frame schematic of Neilson's Central Planning Commission occupied the holographic display, the opulent building reduced to a stripped-down husk. "If they did get in, I don't know how they could bypass the security system in the lab. That's the only thing of any value in that building, and, if the alarm's tripped, the doors automatically seal."  
  
"What if it was an inside job?" Noster suggested innocently, smirking internally as he remembered his earlier conversations with Albert Wesker as they plotted the takeover of Umbrella. He had met the blonde man earlier that week in Neilson's outskirts, the two pondering for hours how they would contrive the final destruction of Umbrella's already-tenuous grip on the world market. They had gotten their orders from above: Harmon's plans were deliberately vague, allowing them a large margin for creativity in the execution of his machinations. The two had finally decided on using HCF's own commando force to stage a raid before having the commander, some man named Mueller, release the virus and the specimens. He had not, however, told Wesker about his visit with the huge Russian, Mikhail, and the delivery of his message to Appolonia; he decided that it would just be a little extra for him, another part of his elaborate game that would only serve to provide amusing speculation.  
  
"If it were a raid, that's the only way it could succeed, Sir." Dobson replied, centering the schematic on the lab. "If we-" he was interrupted by a berserk, throbbing klaxon that shattered the relatively relaxed atmosphere.  
  
"Attention: emergency situation in Neilson City. Lab security has been breached; escape of laboratory specimens has been detected. Deployment of UBCS and Umbrella Containment Forces is suggested. Level Four Outbreak Confirmed." A frigid, computerized woman's voice crackled through the speakers.  
  
"Oh, my god. This is unprecedented. How the hell did this happen?!" Dobson growled, his eyes fixed determinedly on his superior's back; Noster could feel the eyes of all others concentrate on him shortly thereafter.  
  
Noster didn't reply to them, but merely whispered to himself amidst the thunderous dyne of the wailing siren, "the time has come; it's begun." 


End file.
